"I hope," said Mr. Richards, "that you have found a good investment for your money."
"I have," said Christy.
"Is it reasonably sure?"
"Perfectly."
"Nothing in this world can be perfectly sure, Mr. Morton."
"But there is another world," said Christy.
"It may be," he said.
As the man of millions passed on, Christy heard a faint sigh. Three days later the office door burst open and in walked Jim Perry, broad and brown.
Christy stared at him speechlessly.
"I'm well again," announced Jim, superfluously.
Christy shook him by the hand, clapped him on the shoulder and thumped him on the chest.
"Providence knows how to give to missions!" he said.
Jim turned to the mantelpiece and shook his money box. It was empty. He was openly disappointed.
"You lazy beggar," he cried. "Are you leaving all the giving to Providence?"
"I am not a lazy beggar," said Christy. "I am a very industrious one. Look at this."
He put the contents of the pigeon-hole in front of Jim and watched him fall upon them, and enjoyed tremendously his blank delight.
"Why," stammered Jim, "what does it mean? Is it all for us?"
"It means," said Christy, "that a week from to-day will be Christmas."—Y. P. M. M.
