“Come up, old top,” called Blair’s voice from the hall above.

So Lane went up to Blair’s room, which he remembered almost as well as his own, though now it was in disorder.  Blair was in his shirt sleeves.  He looked both gay and spent.  Red Payson was in bed, and his face bore the hectic flush of fever.

“Aw, he’s only had too much to eat,” declared Blair, in answer to Lane’s solicitation.

“How’s that, Red?” asked Lane, sitting down on the bed beside Payson.

“It’s nothing, Dare....  I’m just all in,” replied Red, with a weary smile.

“I telephoned Doc Bronson to come out,” said Blair, “and look us over.  That made Red as sore as a pup.  Isn’t he the limit?  By thunder, you can’t do anything for some people.”

Blair’s tone and words of apparent vexation were at variance with the kindness of his eyes as they rested upon his sick comrade.

“I just came from Bronson’s,” observed Lane.  “He’s been our doctor for as long as I can remember.”

Both Lane’s comrades searched his face with questioning eyes, and while Lane returned that gaze there was a little constrained silence.

“Bronson examined me—­and said I’d live to be eighty,” added Lane, with dry humor.

“You’re a liar!” burst out Blair.

On Red Payson’s worn face a faint smile appeared.  “Carry on, Dare.”

Then Blair fell to questioning Lane as to all the news he had heard, and people he had met.

“So Manton turned you down cold,” said Blair, ponderingly.

“I didn’t get to see him,” replied Lane.  “He sent out word that my old job was held by a girl who did my work better and at less pay.”

The blood leaped to Blair’s white cheek.

“What’d you say?” he queried.

“Nothing much.  I just trailed out....  But the truth is, Blair—­I couldn’t have stood that place—­not for a day.”

“I get you,” rejoined Blair.  “That isn’t the point, though.  I always wondered if we’d find our old jobs open to us.  Of course, I couldn’t fill mine now.  It was an outside job—­lots of walking.”

So the conversation see-sawed back and forth, with Red Payson listening in languid interest.

“Have you seen any of the girls?” asked Blair.

“I met Mel Iden,” replied Lane.

“You did?  What did she—­”

“Mel told me what explained some of your hints.”

“Ahuh!  Poor Mel!  How’d she look?”

“Greatly changed,” replied Lane, thoughtfully.  “How do you remember Mel?”

“Well, she was pretty—­soulful face—­wonderful smile—­that sort of thing.”

“She’s beautiful now, and sad.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.  And she told you right out about the baby?”

“No.  That came out when she said I couldn’t call on her, and I wanted to know why.”

“But you’ll go anyhow?”

“Yes.”