"Hey," exclaimed Hampstead, looking up sharply, "my sister?"
"Ye-uh," affirmed Bud stoutly. "Mr. Cohen's got a letter from her, and she wants to know if yer sick 'r anything."
"By jove, that's right, Bud," confessed John with sudden conviction. "I've had my mind on something of late, and guess I've rather overlooked the folks at home. I'll write to-day. Awfully kind of you, old chap, to come over. Here!"
And Hampstead, now with the telegram in his hand, attempted to cover a feeling of confusion before these bright, peering eyes by a pilgrimage to the closet, from which he tossed Bud a quarter. The lad accepted the quarter thankfully.
"Say, Mr. Hampstead," he broke out impulsively, with an embarrassed note in his voice, "I'm sorry you got your notice!"
"Got my notice?" asked John a bit sharply.
"Yes. Yer let out," announced Bud, with unfeeling directness, though consideration was in his heart. "You been good to me, Mr. Hampstead, and I'm sorry you're goin'. Some of the others is, too."
But John was roused now, thoroughly.
"Why, Bud, what are you talking about?" he demanded, turning accusingly to the boy.
"For the love of Mike," exclaimed Bud, advancing a little fearsomely and studying the face of Hampstead with new curiosity, "Yer let out and don't know it! What'd I tell 'em? Why, there it is," and he snatched up a blue, thin-looking envelope from the dresser. "Y' got it a week ago when you got yer pay. Y' ain't opened it even."
Hampstead took the blue envelope from Bud's hand, an awful sense of weakness running through him as he
