"Confess now, Carl," he said, "that nothing will content you but to get away and spend the gold you have earned. All your flattery and sophistry leads to this—that you are wild for a companion to aid and abet you in spending the money that is burning a hole in your pocket this minute."
"Somehow the gold does seem to burn through my pockets," said Carl, reflectively. "But, tra, la, what is it good for but to buy pleasure?"
He began to hum a few bars of a German song with a gay refrain.
"Come, come, get to your work," exclaimed the other. "Your signal success with your last work should stimulate you to renewed efforts."
"So it will," affirmed Carl; "but not to-day. I feel so giddy over my good news that I could not work to-day. I should hardly know how to mix my colors. I feel as lazy, shiftless and good-natured as the Italian lazzaroni out in the sunshine."
Leslie Dane gave a little sigh as he looked at his happy companion. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the gay current of his good nature. His temperament was an enviable one.
"Carl, did you ever have a sweetheart?" Leslie asked curiously.
"Sweethearts—yes, a score of them," laughed Carl. "More Gretchens, Madchens, and Anitas than you could count on your fingers. Why do you ask?"
"Only for curiosity. I thought you could not be so care-free and joyous if love had ever come into your life."