"I'll get my check from the Gamin on Saturday," said Grief.

"They bought that string of comics." "Well, then, we'll arrange the present funds to last until Saturday noon," said Wrinkles.

"That gives us quite a lot.

We can have a _table d'hote_ on Friday night." However, the cashier of the Gamin office looked under his respectable brass wiring and said: "Very sorry, Mr .-- er--Warwickson, but our pay-day is Monday.

Come around any time after ten." "Oh, it doesn't matter," said Grief.
When he plunged into the den his visage flamed with rage.