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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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she'll give me ballyhoo for telling you; only, Steve, I had to tell somebody or bust . But we're coming through; I can see we are. I just sold our old davenport for three seventy-five. Had to work hard to get the seventy-five instead of fifty. Now Bob'll have to sleep on the cot, but we've got enough to buy supper and breakfast tomorrow morning, with some left over for lunch."
"Gosh, you poor kid. I feel like a beast!"
"No, you're not, brother; you're doing just what is right for you, only it did get under my skin for a minute to hear you talk about taking a girl to a dance when we were starving. But that's part of your life, I suppose, and you go ahead and get all the fun you can, for I can see there's hard work ahead of you. Only for heaven's sake, don't get engaged or anything."
"Of course not!" growled Stephen.
"Now hang up quick. You'll have an awful bill. Good-bye, and don't you dare come back till your course is finished!" And Phyllis hung up for him, because she knew he would not.
Stephen Challenger came out of the long-distance telephone booth and walked slowly, thoughtfully, up to his room. The things his sister had told him cut deep into his soul. He was not a naturally selfish person, though, being the oldest son, he had been badly spoiled. But now he was appalled.
Starving! A Challenger starving! It seemed incredible! Prunes, they had at college, and he hated them. Fish balls! Baked beans! Stewed tomatoes! A lot of cheap nourishing things that he disliked and made a terrible fuss over, together with the rest of his college mates, but they never starved. And there was always the pie shop downtown to which even a "scholarship" man working his way by waiting on tables might resort at times. He had never known what it meant to starve even for one meal.
Mother! Starving! Melissa, delicate-faced little Melissa faint with hunger. Phyllis, and Rosalie and Bob! How awful! He dropped down on the edge of his bed in his room and dropped his elbows to his knees, his face in his hands, and thought about it, and in that moment of unprecedented thought he almost grew up.
Then came the vision of Sylvia to interrupt, willowy Sylvia in her floating chiffons with her little red mouth pursed. He must do something about Sylvia. It was almost five o'clock. The store would be closed before he could possibly get there even if he had the money, or any credit, which he did not. Besides, he had manliness enough not to be willing to go into debt to get a new suit to go to a dance when his family was penniless and hungry. He had lost all desire to take Sylvia to that dance. He only wanted now to find a good excuse to get out of it. Of course, she would never have anything to do with him again, but she probably wouldn't anyway. Sam de Small would be back next week, and he had her all dated up for the commencement week anyway. Why waste any more time running after the moon? Nevertheless, he must retire from the field in a respectable way, and the best excuse he could possibly give was that he was starting home at once because there was trouble and his mother needed him. His father's illness gave plenty of excuse for a hazy explanation. There wouldn't be any trouble about that. But he must go at once and call off the dance. It was almost time for Sylvia to be getting dressed. He must hurry.
He cast about in his apartment for the most suitable clothes he owned to appear before her for the last time, for he knew in his soul that he was going home, that that was where he ought to have been all the time anyway, and that once there, of course, he could do something to help out the fortunes of the family, in spite of what his sister had said.
He examined the bungled darn in the blue trousers and decided it would never get by without observation. At last he donned his old tweed knickers and flannel shirt and hurried away. He would tell her he had no time to dress.
He looked up the address she had given him and started out with a heavy heart,
"Gosh, you poor kid. I feel like a beast!"
"No, you're not, brother; you're doing just what is right for you, only it did get under my skin for a minute to hear you talk about taking a girl to a dance when we were starving. But that's part of your life, I suppose, and you go ahead and get all the fun you can, for I can see there's hard work ahead of you. Only for heaven's sake, don't get engaged or anything."
"Of course not!" growled Stephen.
"Now hang up quick. You'll have an awful bill. Good-bye, and don't you dare come back till your course is finished!" And Phyllis hung up for him, because she knew he would not.
Stephen Challenger came out of the long-distance telephone booth and walked slowly, thoughtfully, up to his room. The things his sister had told him cut deep into his soul. He was not a naturally selfish person, though, being the oldest son, he had been badly spoiled. But now he was appalled.
Starving! A Challenger starving! It seemed incredible! Prunes, they had at college, and he hated them. Fish balls! Baked beans! Stewed tomatoes! A lot of cheap nourishing things that he disliked and made a terrible fuss over, together with the rest of his college mates, but they never starved. And there was always the pie shop downtown to which even a "scholarship" man working his way by waiting on tables might resort at times. He had never known what it meant to starve even for one meal.
Mother! Starving! Melissa, delicate-faced little Melissa faint with hunger. Phyllis, and Rosalie and Bob! How awful! He dropped down on the edge of his bed in his room and dropped his elbows to his knees, his face in his hands, and thought about it, and in that moment of unprecedented thought he almost grew up.
Then came the vision of Sylvia to interrupt, willowy Sylvia in her floating chiffons with her little red mouth pursed. He must do something about Sylvia. It was almost five o'clock. The store would be closed before he could possibly get there even if he had the money, or any credit, which he did not. Besides, he had manliness enough not to be willing to go into debt to get a new suit to go to a dance when his family was penniless and hungry. He had lost all desire to take Sylvia to that dance. He only wanted now to find a good excuse to get out of it. Of course, she would never have anything to do with him again, but she probably wouldn't anyway. Sam de Small would be back next week, and he had her all dated up for the commencement week anyway. Why waste any more time running after the moon? Nevertheless, he must retire from the field in a respectable way, and the best excuse he could possibly give was that he was starting home at once because there was trouble and his mother needed him. His father's illness gave plenty of excuse for a hazy explanation. There wouldn't be any trouble about that. But he must go at once and call off the dance. It was almost time for Sylvia to be getting dressed. He must hurry.
He cast about in his apartment for the most suitable clothes he owned to appear before her for the last time, for he knew in his soul that he was going home, that that was where he ought to have been all the time anyway, and that once there, of course, he could do something to help out the fortunes of the family, in spite of what his sister had said.
He examined the bungled darn in the blue trousers and decided it would never get by without observation. At last he donned his old tweed knickers and flannel shirt and hurried away. He would tell her he had no time to dress.
He looked up the address she had given him and started out with a heavy heart,
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