A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
"He's a friend of mine," the other answered simply.
Bob twisted his lips together a moment, while the muscles around his mouth worked. Suddenly he gave way and broke into sobbing speech.
"You're a good fellow. Dill—I'm not worth it—truly, I'm not! I've been a beast—and the college and all that—you all despise me—but so do I!"
He gripped the chair, turning his handsome, tear-stained face up to his friend's. How the straight, thin nose, the black-lashed blue eyes, the white forehead reflected Helena! Dillon could have kissed him for the likeness.
"Will you, Bob? Will you? We'll all stand by you!"
"I will, Dillon, I will, so help me—Bob!" he smiled through wet lashes. "You hang on, and I will! But look out for that rector—he's running a close second, and Aunt Sarah's backing him for all she's worth!" He was smiling wisely now; the strain was lifted, and he was almost himself again. Dillon scowled.
"He takes her slumming, you know, and, say,
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