fellow had, and a woman or two to give him a sendoff and to write him letters over there sometimes.  To be a soldier—­and to be somebody’s soldier!  Why, these two things would mean Heaven!  And hundreds of thousands of American boys had these and thought nothing of it.  Fate certainly had been a bit stingy with a chap, considered David Lance, smiling into his little fire with a touch of wistful self-pity.

At this moment Fate, in smart, dark livery, knocked at his door.  “Come in,” shouted Lance cheerfully.

The door opened and he stared.  Somebody had lost the way.  Chauffeurs in expensive livery did not come to his hall bedroom.  “Is dis yer Mr. Lance?” inquired Jackson.

Lance admitted it and got the note and read it while Jackson, knowing his Family intimately, knew that something pleasant and surprising was afoot and assisted with a discreet regard.  When he saw that the note was finished, Jackson confidently put in his word.  “Cyar’s waitin’, sir.  Orders is I was to tote you to de house.”

Lance’s eyes glowered as he looked up.  “Tell me one thing,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” grinned Jackson, pleased with this young gentleman from a very poor neighborhood, who quite evidently was, all the same, “quality.”

“Are you,” inquired Lance, “are you any relation to Aunt Basha?”

Jackson, for all his efficiency a friendly soul, forgot the dignity of his livery and broke into chuckles.  “Naw, sir; naw, sir.  I dunno de lady, sir; I reckon I ain’t, sir,” answered Jackson.

“All right, then, but it’s the mistake of your life not to be.  She’s the best on earth.  Wait till I brush my hair,” said Lance, and did it.

Inside three minutes he was in the big Pierce-Arrow, almost as unfamiliar, almost as delightful to him as to Aunt Basha, and speeding gloriously through the streets.  The note had said that some kinspeople had just discovered him, and would he come straight to them for lunch.

Mrs. Cabell and Eleanor crowded frankly to the window when the car stopped.

“I can’t wait to see David’s boy,” cried Mrs. Cabell, and Eleanor, wise of her generation, followed with: 

“Now, don’t expect much; he may be deadly.”

And out of the limousine stepped, unconscious, the beautiful David, and handed Jackson a dollar.

“Oh!” gasped Mrs. Cabell.

“It was silly, but I love it,” added Eleanor; and David limped swiftly up the steps, and one heard Ebenezer, the butler, opening the door with suspicious promptness.  Everyone in the house knew, mysteriously, that uncommon things were doing.

“Pendleton,” spoke Mrs. Cabell, lying in wait for her son, the great doctor, as he came from his office at lunch time, “Pen, dear, let me tell you something extraordinary.”  She told, him, condensing as might be, and ended with; “And oh, Pen, he’s the most adorable boy I ever saw.  And so lonely and so poor and so plucky.  Heartbroken because he’s lame and can’t serve.  You’ll cure him.  Pen, dear, won’t you, for his country?”