g hard, and I think he has
taken a tumble to himself. Listen to this. He met Margie with Dick
Swann out at one of the lake dances--Watkins' Lake. And he cut her
dead. I'm sorry for Margie. She sure is rank poison these days....
Well, speak of the devil!"

Holt Dalrymple collided with them at the entrance of the inn. The
haggard, sullen, heated look that had characterized him was gone. He
was sunburned, and his dark eyes were bright. He greeted his friends
warmly. They chatted for a moment. Then Lane grew thoughtful, all the
while gazing at Holt.

"What's the idea?" queried that worthy, presently. "Anything wrong
with me?"

"Boy, you're just great. Seeing you has done me good.... You ask
what's the idea. Holt, would you do me a favor?"

"Would I? Listen to the guy," returned young Dalrymple. "Daren, I'd do
any old thing for you."

"Do you happen to know Bessy Bell?" went on Lane.

Dalrymple quickened with surprise. "Yes, I know her. Some little
peach!... I almost ran into her down on West Street a few minutes ago.
She wore a white veil. She didn't see me, or recognize me. But I sure
knew her. She was almost running. I bet a million to myself she had a
date at the club."

"You lose, Holt," replied Lane, shortly. "Bessy Bell is one
Middleville kid who has come clean through this mess."

"Say Dare, I like to hear you talk," responded Blair, half in jest and
half in earnest. "But aren't you getting a trifle unbalanced? That's
how my mother apologizes for me."

"Cut the joshing, boys. Listen," returned Lane. "And don't ever tell
this to a soul. I interested myself in Bessy Bell. I've met her more
times than I can count. I wanted to see if it was possible to turn one
of these girls around. I failed on my sister Lorna. But Bessy Bell is
true blue. She had all this modern tommyrot. She had everything else
too. Brains, sweetness, common sense, romance. All I tried to do was
to make her forget the tommyrot. And I think I did."

"Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated Blair. "Dare, that was ripping fine
of you.... What'll you do next, I wonder."

"Come on with your favor," added Holt, with a keen bright smile.

"Would you be willing to see Bessy occasionally--and sort of be nice
to her--you know?" asked Lane, earnestly. "I can't keep up my
attention to her much longer. She might miss me. Take it from me,
Holt, back of all this modern stuff--deep in Bessy, and in every girl
who has not been debased--is the simple and good