write, then; she had not been strong enough when he had seen her. Had she written it on one of the "men's cards" and with the pencil out of the dresser drawer?
"Yes; she wanted me to come over to that place on the West Side. I didn't dare not to go. Ten years of silence and then—that! I knew it must be important. I went over there. I found her ill; she knew she was dying. Jeffrey, I said you didn't yet know half of it! There is a boy."
"What?"
"There's a boy."
Peewee jerked excitedly. He had been growing certain that the sick woman had told the truth; she was his mother and this Walter Wendell Markyn was his father. But he had not been so assured that his father knew. Much of what had been said had not been understandable to him, but this was. He realized that his father was still speaking.
"She'd understood me, she said, Jeffrey, all through our association better than I had understood myself. She'd known that I had never
