"How do you know? You haven't been down to the bank."
"You don't suppose I'd have a monthly check deposited to your account without arranging to know something about it, do you? Mighty poor business man if I did! Now, Percy, use what little brain you have! You've no money, and you can't earn any. Nobody would be fool enough to hire you. There's nothing on earth you can do. I'm going to give you one last chance to make a man of yourself. You've three months to make good in and I expect you to do it. You've got to make up those conditions and earn your salt to show there's some excuse for your being alive. Your whole life hangs on the way you spend the next hundred days. I start for the West Coast to-morrow, and won't be back till fall. I want you to write me—if you feel like it. Will you go?"
The strains of a violin came floating in through the open window. The academy bell struck ten long, lingering strokes.
"Well, what do you say? I'm waiting."
Percy swallowed hard.
"I'll go."