Blair did not voice the scorn that his eyes expressed.  And, in fact, most of his talking was confined to asking questions.  Lane found it easy enough to unburden himself, though he did not mention his calls on Mel Iden, or Colonel Pepper’s disclosures.

“Well, I guess it’s high time we were meandering up to the hall,” said Blair, consulting his watch.  “I’m curious about this Prom.  Think we’re in for a jolt.  It’s four years since I went to a Prom.  Now, both of us, Dare, have a sister who’ll be there, besides all our old friends....  And we’re not dancing!  But I want to look on.  They’ve got an out-of-town orchestra coming—­a jazz orchestra.  There’ll probably be a hot time in the old town to-night.”

“Lorna did not tell me,” replied Lane, as they got up to go.  “But I suppose she’d rather I didn’t know.  We’ve clashed a good deal lately.”

“Dare, I hear lots of talk,” said Blair.  “Margaret is chummy with me, and some of her friends are always out at the house.  I hear Dick Swann is rushing Lorna.  Think he’s doing it on the q-t.”

“I know he is, Blair, but I can’t catch them together,” returned Lane.  “Lorna is working now.  Swann got her the job.”

“Looks bad to me,” replied Blair, soberly.  “Swann is cutting a swath.  I hear his old man is sore on him....  I’d take Lorna out of that office quick.”

“Maybe you would,” declared Lane, grimly.  “For all the influence or power I have over Lorna I might as well not exist.”

They walked silently along the street for a little while.  Lane had to accommodate his step to the slower movement of his crippled friend.  Blair’s crutch tapped over the stone pavement and clicked over the curbs.  They crossed the railroad tracks and turned off the main street to go down a couple of blocks.

“Shades of the past!” exclaimed Blair, as they reached a big brick building, well-lighted in front by a sizzling electric lamp.  The night was rather warm and clouds of insects were wheeling round the light.  “The moths and the flame!” added Blair, satirically.  “Well, Dare, old bunkie, brace up and we’ll go over the top.  This ought to be fun for us.”

“I don’t see it,” replied Lane.  “I’ll be about as welcome as a bull in a china shop.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean any one would throw fits over us,” responded Blair.  “But we ought to get some fun out of the fact.”

“What fact?” queried Lane, puzzled.

“Rather far-fetched, maybe.  But I’ll get a kick out of looking on—­watching these swell slackers with the girls we fought for.”

“Wonder why they didn’t give the dance at the armory, where they’d not have to climb stairs, and have more room?” queried Lane, as they went in under the big light.

“Dare, you’re far back in the past,” said Blair, sardonically.  “The armory is on the ground floor—­one big hall—­open, you know.  The Assembly Hall is a regular maze for rooms and stairways.”