"Up against it?" hopefully inquired the other.
"Broke! I couldn't afford a nickel to see an earthquake."
"I'll lend you fifteen hundred and take Ying as security."
But Bob remained inflexible, and Mr. Cady relapsed into gloom, muttering:
"Gee! You're a rotten business man!"
"So says my heartless father. He has sewed up my pockets and scuttled my drawing-account, hence the dinner-pail on my arm. I'm in quest of toil."
"I'll bet you starve," brightly predicted Mr. Cady, in an effort at encouragement. "I'll lay you five thousand that you make a flivver of anything you try."
"I've quit gambling, too."
As they shook hands Cady grunted: "My invitation to globe-trot is withdrawn. Fine company you'd be!"
As Bob walked up the Avenue he pondered deeply, wondering if he really were so lacking in ability as his friends believed. Money was such a common thing, after all; the silly labor of acquiring it could not be half so interesting as the spending of it. Anybody could make money, but to enjoy it, to circulate it judiciously, one must possess individuality—of a sort. Money seemed to come to some people without effort, and from the strangest sources—Kurtz, for instance, had grown rich out of coats and trousers!