soon as we get to his rooms. He's pretty tough—aren't you, Chip old man?"
He put an affectionate hand on his friend's knee. At that moment Chip swayed suddenly toward Judy's fur-wrapped shoulder.
"Better let me sit there, Miss Pendleton," suggested Major Stroud. "He's no light weight."
"It's all right," said Judy. "I was a V.A.D. for years." She slipped her hand down to his wrist and felt his pulse. "Why do you say he's always thinking about his book? What book?"
"Oh, Chip's a writer, you see. He's always writing something. Just now it's a book on religions. Queer hobby for a fighting chap, isn't it?"
The car sang its way up Campden Hill while Judy listened to what Major Stroud had to say about his friend. He was evidently devoted to him. When they stopped at last, purring softly before a narrow house in a narrow turning off Church Street, she felt she knew more about the two of them than she did about many people she had known far longer.
"Make short work of things now," said the Major in his brisk way as he got out. "Come along, Chip old man."
Very gently he and Mills lifted him out, and
