Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1916-12-12
No. 18-Advice.
A great many people are good (
only because nobody offers them 4
enough inducement to be bad. 4

1 did not know what to do. Twenty
dollars seemed an enormous sum to me.
And yet it was not money particularly
that 1 wanted. 1 had my home and my
mother clothed me. AS a matter of
fact, it was a youthful and natural de-
sire for what is called "a good time"
that had actuated me thus far in my
adventures. l was much too unsophis-
ticated to try to make my good times
pay. If only there was somebody to
laugh with, to talk with, to dance with,
| could be satisfied.
Here was a real problem. 1 went at
once with it to Fred Ellersley.
Fred" L whispered as l joined him
at the restaurant table about which
were grouped a dozen or so noisy young
people, Fred l want to tell you some
thing! and l drew my friend a little
away from the others.
Then 1 unfolded the handkerchief and
showed him the money. He gave a low
whistle and:
Where did you get it?' he asked.
L explained to him how Mr. Kennedy
had given it to me. How when my fin
gers had closed over the handkerchief
had jumped to the conclusion he was
trying to give a note to me. Then when
to estigate L found the cracking pa
per was money.
What shall | do?" I asked
Fred cast a comprehensive glance over
the floor of the dansant.
"Kennedy's gone" he said. Did he
say anything about seeing you tomor-
row." And then before | could answer:
"Of course he did. He'd never have
given you the twenty if he hadn't ex-
pected to do that.@
Yes 1 said, Mr.. Kennedy told me
he would be back at about the same
time tomorrow"
Fred paused a moment.
Give him back his money" he told
me.
l was perfectly willing to obey my
mentor in these things. But also
was human; there were a good many
things L could have bought with twen-
ty dollars.
'Why shall l give it back?" ] asked
"'Tisn't worth it," Fred told me sem
tentiously. You mustn't get the repu-
tation of taking money. That's where
you draw the line. That's how men
know you are not a nice girl. Don't
ever take it, Di, unless" and my young
friends smile was a little hard, :un-
less it's an awful pile. Take anything
else you like, and if you're awfully
hard up you can sell whatever you get.
But what's twenty dollars to a man?
Gee! That's chicken feed!"
I regarded Fred with increasing re-
spect. When l had seen that golden
bill lying there in the folds of my hand
kerchief it seemed a small fortune to
me. Apparently L might reasonably cx-
pect much more.
"AI right" told Fred, 'I'n give It
back to Mr.. Kennedy tomorrow"
And do. little righteous indigna-
tion," my friend told me. Bring the
tears in your eyes if you can. Tell him
you're a poor girl, with heaven knows
few enough pretty things in your life,
but that you are amazed that he should
take you for the kind of girl who would
accept money"
Then what?" 1 asked humbly of this
very clever person.
Then" replied Fred easily, "he won't
particularly believe you, but if you
make him take the twenty back he'll see
that he has to come across more sub
stantially if he wants to dance with
you. Then he will ask you how he can
make you understand that he is very
sorry to have hurt your feelings. Very
falteringly you will tell him how much
you need a dress to go to work Do it
very pitifully, my dear, and 1 think
you'll have your gown by shutdown.
Only don't go to dinner with him after
ward or you might have to pay for it,"