way home, after we had been out about an hour, Dr. Maynard asked in his friendly manner:
"What is it, Bobbie? You're leaving it to me to have most of the fun to-night."
"Dr. Maynard," I exclaimed, "I'd give anything in the world if I were a man and could earn some money."
"What profession would you follow?" he laughed at me.
"I'm serious. Has Alec ever told you much about the business?"
"Not much, but I know he's been disturbed about something lately."
"Well," I said, "there's one of those pictures in that big Doré book with illustrations of the Old Testament, that reminds me of the Vars' affairs. It's a picture of Samson, and he's standing in a great huge kind of hall, pushing down two perfectly enormous stone pillars. The walls and the ceiling and the roof are all caving in—people headfirst, arms, legs, great blocks of granite, children, men,—oh, everything you can think of—tumbling down in horrible confusion. That picture used to give me the nightmare; and now it seems to me as if some old giant of a Samson had gotten down underneath us. All our underpinnings are giving way and we're all failing down—headfirst a thousand feet, smash, on to rock-bottom."
"Why, what do you mean, Bobbie?" laughed Dr. Maynard, amused.
"I mean," I replied—though perhaps I ought not to have told—"I mean, that Alec is going to sell the house and Dixie and we're going to keep only one
