BROWN'S sodas are the best in town, if they do come high,—and the girls know it," Miss Billy had jeered a few weeks before. Theodore repeated the words now with a wholly sober grimace, as he scrambled into his clothes at half past six of an early July morning. Vacation had brought him a permanent position in the drug store, at four dollars a week, but the skeleton still walked. It was not a very hideous skeleton, to be sure,—just a half dozen or so of remarkably round and robust young misses,—but it had a prodigious appetite for the confection known as ice-cream soda, and it never happened to have any money of its own.

Theodore, red in the face from the growing heat and his hurried exertions, frowningly continued his unpleasant reflections.

"There are two or three of those girls that have treated me contemptibly of late,—probably because I no longer live in a fourteen-room house. That Myrtle Blanchard is a notable example. She scarcely takes the trouble to see me on the street, but she manages to get around to the soda fountain every day, either alone, or with the crowd of girls."

He was lacing his shoes now, and another side of the subject presented itself.

"These are the shoes I vowed to buy with my own earnings, or go without. Father bought them. I've learned to crow before my tail feathers have grown enough to tell whether I'm going to be a Brahma rooster or a Bantam hen. Well, I'm through cackling now: anyway, till I get rid of those girls, and save some money. Then I'll have something to cackle over."

He swung down to breakfast, taking time to eat only his "bale of hay"—the shredded wheat biscuit the faithful Maggie put before him,—and hurried off to work. At the gate he encountered John Thomas Hennesy, going his way, with a broken bridle in his hand.

"Mornin'," said John Thomas cheerfully.

"Good-morning," returned Theodore. "Going my way? Then you'll have to keep up with my stride. I'm late this morning."

"Workin' at Brown's steady now, ain't yer?" inquired John Thomas, with friendly curiosity. "Much in it?"

"Four dollars a week as a starter," said Theodore, firmly pressing the skeleton back into its closet. "It's easy work, and they are beginning to give me a little collecting and bookkeeping of late."

John Thomas gave his companion a covert stare that took in the neat blue serge suit and immaculate tie, the jaunty straw hat and well-polished shoes. He noted that Theodore's eyes were grey like Miss Billy's, and his teeth were white. Then he shoved his own stubby hands into his pockets, and lapsed into silence. Grudgingly to himself he admitted that Theodore was a "swell." He had soft hands, and clean finger nails, and white teeth. He polished his shoes every day, wore stand-up collars through the hot weather, and liked easy jobs.

John Thomas's chin squared itself into the bulldog pattern of his father's, and his hands shut tight in his pockets.

There was Miss Billy now. She and Theodore were as alike in looks as two peas. But Miss Billy was no swell. Her teeth and nails were awful clean, too,—but then, she was a girl,—and she liked work. She'd do anything,—even if she had clean hands, and finger nails, and——

John Thomas was measuring the length of his stubby legs with Theodore's long swinging stride. "Driving team for your father, this vacation, aren't you?" inquired Theodore, in turn. "Pretty hot in the sun, isn't it?"

"It's hot,—yes," admitted John Thomas, the bulldog chin slowly melting under the friendly glance of the grey eyes,—"but its good pay,—a dollar a day, and the day's work over at six o'clock."

Theodore repressed a whistle. "Why, you'll save money, John Thomas, if the job lasts all summer."

"It'll last all summer, all right, and longer too. Father's got more work than he can attend to. He's bought another team and he's going to hire another man to drive it. I worked for father all last summer, and I've got sixty dollars saved in the bank now. I'll make it a hundred before school commences in September."

It was Theodore, now, whose critical glance took in John Thomas,—a sturdy square-set figure, with baggy trousers and rusty shoes, the true Hennesy freckles and turned-up nose,—offset by keen blue eyes and the resolute chin. "He's a man!" thought Theodore. "He's neither afraid or ashamed of honest work,—and he saves his money, too. I wonder what he'd do in my place now, if he had a crowd of girls to treat every day with his hard earnings?"

But it was difficult to imagine the figure at his side presiding at a soda fountain, and handing out refreshment to a bevy of young beauties, so Theodore gave it up with a sigh. John Thomas, unpleasantly aware of the scrutiny, bore it unflinchingly, but his chin squared itself again, and he thought, "He's a tenderfoot, that's what he is. He never had dirty hands in his life. I guess he's wonderin' who my tailor is."

When Theodore reached the store he changed his coat for a linen one, dusted the counters, lifted the ice into the soda fountain, and gave all the glasses and spoons an extra polish. The recollection of John Thomas lingered with him, together with the sixty dollars in the bank which would be one hundred by September. "I'm in a false position," he thought angrily. "I'm making those girls believe I have all the money I want, and other people believe I'm an industrious and deserving young man. I'd change jobs with John Thomas Hennesy in a hurry if I could."

The day was very warm, and by nine o'clock the soda water trade was brisk. Myrtle Blanchard was one of the early callers. She was a miss of fashion, like her older sisters, and aptly imitated their mincing ways.

"Oh, isn't it just too dreadfully warm?" she gasped, fanning herself with her lace handkerchief and sinking onto one of the stools. "I really couldn't have gone another step without resting, if I had been paid for it."

"It's hot," acquiesced Theodore, preparing a glass of orange phosphate for another customer. "Mr. Brown," he called over to the proprietor, who was sitting at the desk, "do you want me to collect that bill I was told to call for this morning?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Brown, "you'd better go right away. We've had to wait long enough for that money. Frank, you take Theodore's place at the fountain."

Miss Myrtle's face assumed a look of hauteur. She was not accustomed to being pushed aside, even for business. But she hastened to say, "Oh, I am so warm! I believe I'll have a cherry phosphate. I came away without my purse this morning, but please don't charge such a small amount to papa."

Theodore prepared the phosphate and placed it before her. His eyes took on the steady, level expression that Miss Billy's habitually wore, but his voice was cool and bland as he said aloud, "Frank, please make a charge against Miss Myrtle Blanchard,—one phosphate, ten cents."

The other customers gazed in astonishment at this unheard of publicity in entering a charge. Miss Myrtle turned from pink to crimson, and slowly back to pink,—but she philosophically concluded to drink her phosphate and think the matter out afterward. Theodore, meantime, had taken his hat, and getting the bill and some change from Mr. Brown, left the store.

"The mean thing!" inwardly raged Miss Myrtle. "He meant that for a snub,—I know he did. And he never so much as glanced at me as he went out. Just wait! I'll get even with him."

Out in the hot sunshine Theodore's other conscience was accusing him. "It's a mean thing to use a girl that way! But if it has to be done, I'm glad Myrtle Blanchard got it first. Yet it's all my own fault! If I hadn't treated them at the first, they wouldn't have come to expect it. But I feel as mean as a cur that's stolen another cur's bone."

A walk of half a mile brought Theodore to a handsome house in a fashionable street. He ascended the steps, touched the bell, and heard a voice on the inside distinctly say, "If that's that boy from Brown's, Nora, tell him I'm not at home."

The door opened and a maid in a white cap glibly repeated the message: "Mrs. Thorpe isn't at home this morning. Won't you call again?"

"She expects me this morning," said Theodore, firmly,—"so with your permission, I'll wait." As he spoke, he entered and seated himself in the reception hall.

"She may not be home to luncheon," faltered the maid. "If you could——"

"My time is my own," interrupted Theodore. "Mrs. Thorpe expected me, so I'll wait."

There was a rustle of skirts above, and a whispered consultation. In fifteen minutes' time Mrs. Thorpe descended the stairs, looking cool and beautiful in a pale blue silken wrapper.

"The maid was quite mistaken," she asserted sweetly. "I was taking a little rest, and she thought I had gone out. Oh, yes,—you have that bill. How troublesome for you to have had the long walk for so small an amount! Fifteen dollars, is it? Please receipt the bill. And you have change there! May I trouble you to change this five-dollar bill for me, as well?"

Theodore tucked the fifteen dollars, three crisp notes, into his pocket, with satisfaction, and receipted the bill for the silken lady. Then he counted out to her five dollars in change, and taking his hat, bowed himself out. He was flushed with pride at having outwitted the notorious Mrs. Thorpe. The other clerks at the store had tried innumerable times to collect this bill. He hurried over the hot pavements toward the store, the success of this undertaking driving Myrtle Blanchard and the other girls, for the time, from his mind.

Mr. Brown was still at the desk when he reached the store. He handed in the three bills with conscious triumph. "And the five dollars in change, I gave you?" suggested Mr. Brown pleasantly.

"Oh, I exchanged that for——" he stopped suddenly, with a startled air. He had given Mrs. Thorpe the five dollars in silver, but she had given him no bill in return. He remembered now, distinctly. He was perfectly sure.

"You may have lost it," corrected Mr. Brown gravely. "You must be careful not to attribute its loss to Mrs. Thorpe. She is one of our wealthiest customers. However, you may go back and inquire."

Mrs. Thorpe rustled down at Theodore's second summons. Certainly, she had given him the bill! He had probably lost it on the street. Then she rustled upstairs again, and Nora, the maid, showed him out.

The brick buildings that radiated the heat, and the dusty streets with their clanging cars, swam before his tired and angry eyes. "A woman that would lie, might steal," he reflected fiercely. "Mrs. Thorpe has that five-dollar bill, together with the change I gave her, in her purse!"

He took his way back, in helpless anger and misery, to the store, and reported once more at the desk.

"No," said Mr. Brown. "I didn't think Mrs. Thorpe had it. You must be extremely careful what you say. You have either carelessly lost it, or——"

"Or what?" demanded Theodore angrily.

Mr. Brown flushed in return. "I have noticed since you have been in my employ," he said coldly, "that you have extravagant habits, as well as extravagant friends. It is the shortest road to dishonesty, although I make no accusations. Of course you will make this loss good. Is there any money coming to you?"

"Very little. What was coming to me I drew Saturday night," said Theodore, the colour all gone from his face. "Mr. Brown, you are doing me an injustice. I was extremely careless. It is right that I should return the money because of that carelessness. But I am honest, and I have been taught to be truthful. I beg you to believe me when I say that the money is, knowingly or unknowingly, with Mrs. Thorpe. I distinctly remember that she did not give me the bill."

Mr. Brown's voice was like ice: "I do not wish to have any more discussion of the matter. The money will be charged to your father until you repay its loss. You may go to dinner."

Mr. Hennesy and John Thomas, seated on a little hillock of dirt, were eating their dinner from a bountifully filled dinner pail, when a noontide visitor strode in upon them. The horses looked mildly up from their improvised feed boxes upon Theodore, who, reckless of the polished shoes and blue serge suit, seated himself upon another hillock in their midst.

"Mr. Hennesy," he said, coming straight to the point, "have you hired a man yet, to drive that new team you've bought?"

"Well," said Mr. Hennesy warily, and confining his gaze to a generous crescent his teeth had described in a quarter of an apple pie, "there's a red-headed man that's been afther the job, an' there's another that's as bald as an acorn——"

"If you'll give it to me," broke in Theodore, "I'll do my best to please you, and I'll work cheaper than a man. I have handled horses before. Try me for a week, Mr. Hennesy, and if I don't give satisfaction you needn't pay me a cent, and there will be no hard feeling."

Mr. Hennesy's first shock of surprise expanded slowly into a grin. John Thomas's eyes were like saucers.

"Why-ee—" gurgled Mr. Hennesy, "ye'd burn the shkin all off av yer nose, an' tan yer neck, an' blishter yer han's so yer own mother wouldn't be afther knowin' ye. Ye couldn't niver——"

"Come now, Mr. Hennesy," said Theodore, rising abruptly, "if I look like a fool, I assure you I'm not one. Will you give me the chance?"

Mr. Hennesy's grin vanished, and his chin squared.

"Thot I will!" he said, extending his hand cordially. "Ye can go to work in the mornin'. But moind me,—ye'll do yer full dhuty, or ye'll git fired!"

Theodore was gone, as suddenly as he had come, and John Thomas still sat, the picture of helpless surprise.

"Well—I'll—be blowed!" he ejaculated, at last. "I wouldn't have thought it of him. He looked too good to spoil his hands. Somethin' must have gone wrong at the drug store."

"Which same ye'll not be mintionin' to him, John Thomas," said Mr. Hennesy, with the true instincts of a gentleman.

"As if I would!" returned John Thomas scornfully.

Dinner was over, and Miss Billy was out weeding the pansy bed when her brother reached home. The long walk from the outskirts of the town where Mr. Hennesy was working, and the noontide heat of the day, had failed to bring the colour back to his pale face. He seemed to have grown taller, and older, in a single morning. Miss Billy, looking up from her flowers, instantly read the trouble in his face, and sprang to her feet.

"Wilhelmina," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and looking down into her face (it was the first time in his life he had called her that), "I've got to borrow your Christmas gold piece. I never thought I'd come down so low, but,—well, I have! I'm in trouble, and I've got to have it to square myself."

"Is that all?" cried Miss Billy, brightening. "It can't be a very great trouble that that paltry gold piece can drive away. And I'm so glad to let you have it, Ted."

"No,—that's not all," went on Theodore, in a hard voice. "Mr. Brown thinks I'm a sneak, if not a thief!—and I've quit my job. Don't tell father and mother,—not yet, I mean."

"Theodore!" There was anguish in Miss Billy's tones that brought the tears for the first time to Theodore's eyes.

"But I've hired out to Mr. Hennesy to drive a team, and start to work in the morning."

"Brother, you can't do that!" Miss Billy, in spite of herself, was crying now.

"Do you remember," said Theodore, "we were reading the other day that a man is as great—not as his father's money, or his grandfather's name, but as the force within himself? Miss Billy, I have force enough to drive Mr. Hennesy's team, and stick to it! Inasmuch as that, I am a man."

Miss Billy looked up, overawed. Laziness, heedlessness, vanity, had dropped away as a mantle, and from the steady grey eyes looked the serious spirit of a man.

Like a rainbow of promise, Miss Billy smiled through her tears. "Theodore Lee," she said, wiping the last drop off her nose, "Theodore Lee, I'm proud of you!"