n in view I can keep tabs on, and Blodgett'll
always be sitting down here seeing you don't get stung."

He sighed profoundly.

"Guess that'll have to be my share."

George would rather have had the man curse him. It struck directly at
his pride to submit to this unmasking of his jealous opinion. He
strangled his quick impulse to reach forward, to grasp Blodgett's hand,
to beg his pardon. Instead he tried to find ways of avoiding the
generous gift.

"We can't settle anything yet. A dozen circumstances may arise. The war
may end----"

"When you go, George," Blodgett said, wistfully.

And George knew that in the end he couldn't refuse without disclosing
everything; that his partners wouldn't let him. It added strangely
enough to his discomfort that he should leave the disappointed man with
a confident feeling that he need make no move to see Sylvia before going
to Plattsburgh. In any case, the camp ought to be over before the
fifteenth of August.

His partners were pleased enough by his recital, and determined to
accept Blodgett's offer.

"He's the most generous soul that ever lived," Goodhue said, warmly.

Lambert agreed, but George thought he detected a troubled light in his
eyes.

Blodgett's generosity continued to worry George, to accuse him. After
all, Blodgett had accomplished a great deal more than he. With only one
of the necessities he had made friends, had become engaged to Sylvia
Planter. No. There was something besides that. He had had an unaffected
personality to offer, and--he had said it himself--a heart that was all
right.

George asked himself now if Blodgett had helped him in the first place,
not because he had been Mr. Alston and Dicky Goodhue's friend, but
simply because he had liked him. He was inclined to believe it. He had
reached the point where he admitted that many people had been friendly
and useful to him because he had what Blodgett lacked, an exceptional
appearance, a rugged power behind acquired graces. Squibs, he realized,
had put his finger on that long ago. He was glad he was going down. The
tutor would give him his usual disciplinary tonic.

But it was a changed Squibs that met George; a nearly silent Squibs, who
spoke only to praise; a slightly apprehensive Squibs. George tried to
reassure Mrs. Bailly.

"Three months at Plattsburgh, then nobody knows how much longer to whip
our division into shape. The war will probably be over before we get
across."

But she didn't b