" Eying her sheepishly, he went on: "Do
we still have to wait till I get eighteen, Fanny?"
"We certainly do," she retorted promptly. "A couple simply can't live
on less than eighteen."
The shipping clerk thrust his hands in his pockets and began to stride
up and down the room. Peevishly he exclaimed:
"I know it. That's what makes me so sore when I read about
millionaires like Stafford having luxurious private yachts, giving
fifty thousand for a picture and things like that. They have so much
money they don't know what to do with it, and yet all that stands
between me and happiness is four dollars a week _and I can't get
it_."
Virginia, who was sitting on the sofa, having become interested in a
cabinet full of curios close by, looked up with a smile. Encouragingly
she said:
"Don't worry, Jimmie, your chance will come just as Mr. Stafford's
did."
"Fine chance I've got," he growled; "third assistant shipping clerk in
a wholesale grocery. Why, the manager of the department only gets
thirty and he's been with the house twenty-six years."
"That's a sweet outlook for me, I must say," cried Fanny in dismay.
"If it takes a man twenty-six years to work up to thirty, I suppose
you'll be getting eighteen eleven years from the third of next
January."
Jimmie looked closely at both girls. He was not quite sure if they
were making fun of him. Apparently satisfied that, on the contrary,
they were in full sympathy with his troubles, he said:
"I'm doing my best and no fellow can do more! That's what makes me so
sore, I tell you.
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