They were shown into a small bare office, where, behind a littered flat-top desk, the judge got nimbly to his feet; although "judge" was in this case a queer fancy indeed, as David had later to confess.

There are several ways in which men can be homely, and Radbourne, of Radbourne & Company, had chosen the worst way of all. When you saw him you wanted to smile. He was little and roly-poly. His eyes were too small, their blue too light. His nose was acutely and ungracefully pug. His ears were too big and stood out from his head. His mouth was too wide. His hair and eyebrows were thick and red, too red, and his round chubby face was flanked by a pair of silky, luxuriant red Dundrearies that would have done credit to a day of hirsute achievements. His linen was strictly without blemish, and he wore a creaseless black frock coat and a waistcoat of brown broadcloth. And as he stood looking up at his tall visitors, head on one side, he reminded them of nothing so much as a sleek c.o.c.k-robin who had just dined to his taste. He seemed to be in his late thirties.

David would have smiled at any other time. "Why, this," he thought unkindly, "is a mere comic valentine."

The comic valentine smiled, a little shyly it seemed, and put out a slender long-fingered hand.

"This," he announced, "is a great pleasure."

David took the hand and murmured something polite.

Blaisdell chatted briskly for a few minutes, then departed. Radbourne turned to his draftsman-to-be.

"Perhaps Mr. Blaisdell has told you we are needing a man here. Do you think, now you've had a look at us, you would care to come and help us?"

"That's a pleasant way of putting it," said David a bit grimly. "I'm needing a job badly. If you think you aren't afraid to try me--"

Radbourne smiled protestingly. "If you knew all Mr. Blaisdell has said of you, you wouldn't say that. You have warm friends, Mr. Quentin, if he is a sample."

"Did he tell you I've failed in the only thing I ever tried?"

"He didn't put it that way," the little man said gently. "Nor would I, if I were you. There's such a thing as getting into the wrong niche--which isn't failure at all. Shall we consider it settled that you will come?"

"I'd like to be sure," David said, flushing, "that this job isn't one of your--charities."

The little man flushed, too. "Oh, I _beg_ of you not to think that. I expect you to prove it a good stroke of business for me. And I hope we shall please each other. Your first name is David, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And mine is Jonathan. That ought to be a good omen. Don't you think so?" And that diffident smile, so absurdly out of place on the face of an employer, appeared again.

"Why, I hope so," said David.

"And I hope you will like the work, though it may not be very big at first. I understand how important that is to a man." Radbourne nodded gravely. "But I have a theory that if he puts his heart into his work he is bound to get a good deal of happiness out of it. Don't you think so?"

"I'll try to remember that. When do you want me to come?"

"Could you make it next Monday?"

"I will be here then."

David went away from Jonathan Radbourne, the comic valentine; and the heartache, for some reason, was a little eased, courage a little stiffened.

"After all," he kept saying to himself, "it's only a gift to Shirley and the baby. And I'm _glad_ to give it to them--they're worth anything. It's a debt, too. I owe them everything I can give. And maybe now we can be happy as we used to be--no worries or quarrels."

He tried to keep thinking of that--of the comfort in knowing that next month's expenses could be met, of debts growing less, not bigger, of a love happily reborn under freedom from worry.

He went to d.i.c.k Holden's office. That busy young man met him with visible embarra.s.sment, which, however, David ignored.

"d.i.c.k," he plunged at once into his errand, "I owe you a lot of money."

"Oh, not much--not worth speaking about. No hurry about that, old man."

David smiled grimly at that. "It won't be paid in a hurry--can't be.

But I'm quitting the game and taking a job, and I can pay you some every month now; not much, but a nibble, anyhow. And if ever you get rushed with business and I can help you out at nights, I'd be glad to work part of my debt off that way."

"Why," said d.i.c.k very eagerly, "that'll be easy. I've got three sets of plans I'd like to have you work out right now. And there'll be more. You know, I'll be pretty busy over that St. Chris--" d.i.c.k's tongue halted sharply and the red crept over his face until even his ears were glowing.

"Of course. I haven't congratulated you yet. I do most--"

"Don't you, Davy Quentin!" d.i.c.k interrupted fiercely. "Don't you go congratulating me. I feel darn small potatoes just now. You're quitting the game because I beat you out on the St. Christopher's job, and I--"

"Not at all," David interrupted in his turn. "You mustn't look at it that way. I was foozling my approach right along anyway, and the St.

Christopher thing couldn't have changed that. One swallow doesn't kill a summer thirst, you know." He laughed at this slender joke so heartily that d.i.c.k was almost deceived.

"Is it a pretty fair job?"

"I must say it is. And I expect to make a mighty good draftsman for Radbourne & Company. I've always been rather long on mechanical drawing, you may remember. And I've got a first-rate boss, if I'm any judge. On the whole, it looks pretty good--much better than dubbing along at a game where--where one hasn't the punch, as you put it."

d.i.c.k flushed again. For several minutes he was silent save for the drumming of his fingers on the desk. Then he stirred, with a sharp irritable movement.

"Well, I wish you luck. And I'll have the data for those plans to-morrow."

David took this as a hint to go. When he had gone d.i.c.k heaved a sigh of relief. During those silent minutes a strange inspiration had come to him, to suggest a partnership in lieu of the new job. d.i.c.k felt that he had had a narrow escape from an expensive generosity.

Next David called on a young architect who was looking for quarters.

To him it was arranged to transfer the office lease and to sell enough of its furniture to pay the rent in arrears.

Then David went home to lay his gift at Shirley's feet.

And yet, as he neared the apartment, he felt a strange shrinking from telling her the news, lest she guess what his gift had cost him. He wondered at that.

He found Shirley flushed with excitement over news of her own.

"Guess who's coming!"

David could not guess.

"Aunt Clara!"

"Why, that's fine," he rejoiced weakly.

Shirley kissed him nicely.

"And, David, I think she's coming to talk over things."

"Aunt Clara generally is-- What things?"

"Why, our affairs. Money, you know."