“I—I will, Trent, but it’s an obligation that perhaps I can never even in part repay, I’m poor and———”
“Of course you'll pay me! If I were a usurer I would take your talent for security. When you are rich and famous———”
“Don't, Trent———”
“All right, only no more monkey business.”
He slipped a dozen gold pieces into the purse and tucking it again under the mattress smiled at Braith.
“How old are you?” he demanded.
“Sixteen.”
Trent laid his hand lightly on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m twenty-two, and I have the rights of a grandfather as far as you are concerned. You'll do as I say until you’re twenty-one.”
“The siege will be over then I hope,” said Braith trying to laugh, but the prayer in their hearts: “How long, O Lord, how long!” was answered by the swift scream of a shell soaring among the storm-clouds of that December night.
