319 THE LAND OF PLUCK

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THERE SAT MY LITTLE MAN, AND IF THE YOUNG SCAMP WAS N’T BLOWING
BUBBLES !””

Once more time flew along. Why not? And again I
found myself trymg—this time to make money. The
day, as I look back, is so close that the old faces put on
their own look again, and the young acquaintances come
to light once more, and Mary, my wife, no longer skipping
down the garden path, sits at her little work-table sewing.
Well, as I have said, this time I am trying to make
money. There is great excitement in Wall street. Men
are being made rich or poor in an hour. JI have a good,
steady clerkship, but a chance for blowing a great big, big
bubble comes to me. I can see a happy face already look-
ing up at me from its golden surface.