The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of

prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income

was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a

modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and

reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James

Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.

She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence

in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with

which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for

months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had

been greater than she had calculated.

They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour

she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and

sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being

owned by Jim.

There was a pier glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a

pier glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing

his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly

accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.