"I am enclosing the check for $100 that you wrote me for," read the letter Harold received from his mother the next morning. "Harold, do you think you are doing wisely in spending this money for a dance? It doesn't sound like you. I didn't dare show your father the letter you wrote asking for the money. I knew he would raise the roof if he saw it. And I don't think Uncle Peter would approve either. We are all well here. I hope you are well too. It seems such a long time to Christmas, when you will be with us again. Your Uncle Peter is going on a trip around Thanksgiving time and says he may drop down and see you. Write whenever you have time. Dad joins me in sending you lots of love."
Harold read the epistle soberly and had to acknowledge that his mother's judgment about the foolishness of the Frolic was correct.
That same day he received the bill from the Hotel Tate. It was for $180. And there was not a single charge on it even to the broken crockery and glassware his wild flight from the ballroom had caused, that he could have rescinded. He paid the bill and was dis-
