for ten long, weary months I've been job hunting!  There aren't
any jobs!  And, if there were, they wouldn't give 'em to me. What
good am I?  What do I know about business?  Nothing."

Tuppence nodded gloomily.

"What about the colonies?" she suggested.

Tommy shook his head.

"I shouldn't like the colonies--and I'm perfectly certain they
wouldn't like me!"

"Rich relations?"

Again Tommy shook his head.

"Oh, Tommy, not even a great-aunt?"

"I've got an old uncle who's more or less rolling, but he's no
good."

"Why not?"

"Wanted to adopt me once.  I refused."

"I think I remember hearing about it," said Tuppence slowly. "You
refused because of your mother----"

Tommy flushed.

"Yes, it would have been a bit rough on the mater.  As you know,
I was all she had.  Old boy hated her--wanted to get me away from
her. Just a bit of spite."

"Your mother's dead, isn't she?" said Tuppence gently.

Tommy nodded.

Tuppence's large grey eyes looked misty.

"You're a good sort, Tommy.  I always knew it."

"Rot!" said Tommy hastily.  "Well, that's my position. I'm just
about desperate."

"So am I!  I've hung out as long as I could.  I've touted round.
I've answered advertisements.  I've tried every mortal blessed
thing. I've screwed and saved and pinched!  But it's no good. I
shall have to go home!"

"Don't you want to?"

"Of course I don't want to!  What's the good of being
sentimental? Father's a dear--I'm awfully fond of him--but you've
no idea how I worry him!  He has that delightful early Victorian
view that short skirts and smoking are immoral. You can imagine
what a thorn in the flesh I am to him! He just heaved a sigh of
relief when the war took me off. You see, there are seven of us
at home.  It's awful!  All housework and mothers' meetings!  I
have always been the changeling. I don't want to go back,
but--oh, Tommy, what else is there to do?"

Tommy shook his head sadly.  There was a silence, and then
Tuppence burst out:

"Money, money, money!  I think about money morning, noon and
night! I dare say it's mercenary of me, but there it is!"

"Same here," agreed Tommy with feeling.

"I've thought over every imaginable way of getting it too,"
continued Tuppence.  "There are only three!  To be left it, to
marry it, or to make it.  First is ruled out. I haven't got any
rich elderly relatives.  Any relatives I have are in homes for
decayed gentlewomen!  I always help old ladies over crossings,
and pick up parcels for old gentlemen, in case they should turn
out to be eccentric millionaires. But not one of them has ever
asked me my name--and quite a lot never said 'Thank you.'  "

There was a pause.

"Of course," resumed Tuppence, "marriage is my best chance. I
made up my mind to marry money when I was quite young. Any
thinking girl would!  I'm not sentimental, you know." She paused. 
"Come now, you can't say I'm sentimental," she added sharply.

"Certainly not," agreed Tommy hastily.  "No one would ever think
of sentiment in connection with you."

"That's not very polite," replied Tuppence.  "But I dare say you
mean it all right.  Well, there it is! I'm ready and willing--but
I never meet any rich men! All the boys I know are about as hard
up as I am."

"What about the general?" inquired Tommy.

"I fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace," explained
Tuppence.  "No, there it is!  Now you could marry a rich girl."