you?'

"'I closed the cab door for you,' I answered. 'According to common
custom you might give me a dime.'

"'Bother that!' he snorted. 'I mean something substantial.'

"He was certainly serious--a twinge of ossified conscience or something;
and so I considered with grave deliberation for a moment.

"His face was quite expectant when I began my answer, but you should
have seen it when I finished.

"'You might give me back my home,' I said, 'and my stock in the Sierra
Mills.'"

Father paused.

"What did he say?" I questioned eagerly.

"What could he say? He said nothing. But I said. 'I hope you are happy.'
He looked at me curiously. 'Tell me, are you happy?'" I asked.

"He ordered the cabman to drive on, and went away swearing horribly. And
he didn't give me the dime, much less the home and stock; so you see, my
dear, your father's street-arab career is beset with disappointments."

And so it was that father kept on at our Pell Street quarters, while
Ernest and I went to Washington. Except for the final consummation, the
old order had passed away, and the final consummation was nearer than