“Had Holt been drinking?”

“Not to-night.  But he’s been hitting the bottle pretty hard of late.”

Suddenly Lane buttonholed the little man and peered down earnestly at him.  “Pepper, I’ve been trying to straighten Holt up.  He’s going to the bad.  But he’s a good kid.  It’s only the company....  The fact is—­this’s strictly confidential, mind you—­Holt’s sister begged me to try to stop his drinking and gambling.  I think I can do it, too, with a little help.  Now, Pepper, I’m asking you to help me.”

“Ahuh!  Well, let’s go in the writing room, where we can talk,” said the other, and he took hold of Lane’s arm.  When they were seated in a secluded corner he lighted a cigar, and faced Lane with shrewd, kindly eyes.  “Son, I like you and Blair as well as I hate these slackers Swann and Mackay, and their crowd.  I could tell you a heap, and maybe help you, though I think young Holt is not a bad egg....  Is his sister the dark one who steps so straight and holds herself so well?”

“Yes, that sounds like Dorothy,” replied Lane.

“She’s about the only one I know who doesn’t paint her face and I never saw her at—­well, never mind where.  But the fact I mean makes her stand out in this Middleville crowd like a light in the dark....  Lane, have you got on yet to the speed of the young people of this old burg?”

“I’m getting on, to my sorrow,” said Lane.

“Ahuh!  You mean you’re getting wise to your kid sister?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say.  What do you know, Pepper?”

“Now, son, wait.  I’m coming to that, maybe.  But I want to know some things first.  Is it true—­what I hear about your health, bad shape, you know—­all cut up in the war?  Worse than young Maynard?”

Pepper’s hand was close on Lane’s.  He had forgotten his cigar.  His eyes were earnest.

“True?” laughed Lane, grimly.  “Yes, it’s true....  I won’t last long, Pepper, according to Doctor Bronson.  That’s why I want to make hay while the sun shines.”

“Ahuh!” Pepper cleared his throat.  “Forgive this, boy....  Is it also true you were engaged to marry that Helen Wrapp—­and she threw you down, while you were over there?”

“Yes, that’s perfectly true,” replied Lane, soberly.

“God, I guess maybe the soldier wasn’t up against it!” ejaculated Pepper, with a gesture of mingled awe and wonder and scorn.

“What was the soldier up against, Pepper?” queried Lane.  “Frankly, I don’t know.”

“Lane, the government jollied and forced the boys into the army,” replied Pepper.  “The country went wild with patriotism.  The soldiers were heroes.  The women threw themselves away on anything inside a uniform.  Make the world safe for democracy—­down the Hun—­save France and England—­ideals, freedom, God’s country, and all that!  Well, the first few soldiers to return from France got a grand reception, were made heroes of.  They were lucky to get back while