fortune. As it was, he realized that he must get money 
first—considerable money in a small way—before he 
could do these things. It set his mind to running on 
money chances, and thereafter he was keenly on the 
alert for anything which might show a quick, clear, easy 
profit. A quick, clear, easy profit—that was the thing 
he wanted. And how was he to get it? 
It was in this year, or a little earlier, that he began to 
take a keen interest in girls. He had from the first 
showed a shrewd eye for the beautiful; and, being good- 
looking and magnetic himself, it was not hard for him to 
attract the sympathetic interest of those in whom he was 
interested. A ten-year-old girl, Patience Barlow, who 
lived a number of doors from him up the street, was the 
first to attract his attention or to be attracted by him. 
Black hair and snapping black eyes were her portion, 
with pretty pigtails down her back, and dainty feet and 
ankles to match a dainty figure. She was a Quakeress, 
the daughter of Quaker parents, wearing a demure little 
bonnet; but that made no odds. Her disposition was 
vivacious; and she liked this self-reliant, self-sufficient, 
straight-spoken boy who lived in her street. He had such 
clear, non-committal, and yet dancing eyes. Their first 
encounter was lost in a maze of mere passings to and 
fro—he could not have said when; but one day, after an 
exchange of glances from time to time, he said, with a 
smile and the courage that was innate in him (she was 
passing him in the same direction at the time): 
" You live up my way, don't you?" 
"Yes," she replied, a little flustered—this last mani- 
fested in a nervous swinging of her school-book bag- 
" I live at number one forty-one." 
" I know the house," he said. "I've seen you go in 
there. You go to the same school my sister does, don't 
you? Aren't you Patience Barlow?" 
He had heard some of the boys speak her name. 
"Yes. How do you know?"