A SON AT THE FRONT
tent to let all his friends prey on it. You never caught his eye on the clock, or his lips shaping an answer before you had turned the last corner of your story. Yet when the story was told, and he had surveyed it in all its bearings, you could be sure he would do what he could for you, and do it before the day was over.
"Very well, Mademoiselle," he said, when the young woman had finished. "I promise you I'll see Mme. Beausite, and try to get her to recognize your claim."
"Mind you, I don't ask charity—I won't take charity from your committee!" the young lady hissed, gathering up a tawdry hand-bag.
"Oh, we're not forcing it on any one," smiled Boylston, opening the door for her.
When he turned back to Campton his face was flushed and frowning. "Poor thing! She's a nuisance, but I'll fight to the last ditch for her. The chap she lives with was Beausite's secretary and understudy, and devilled for him before the war. The poor fellow has come back from the front a complete wreck, and can't even collect the salary Beausite owes him for the last three months before the war. Beausite's plea is that he's too poor, and that the war lets him out of paying. Of course he counts on our doing it for him."
"And you're not going to?"
"Well," said Boylston humorously, "I shouldn't wonder if he beat us in the long run. But I'll have a try first; and anyhow the poor girl needn't know. She
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