nate age, advanced and shook hands.
There was no mistaking him; he was Margie Fulton's son in size, in
coloring, in features. "I told Bennie you could use a bright kid about
his age. And he's bright."

It required no clever analysis of the lad to convince Gray that he was
indeed bright, as bright--and as hard--as a silver dollar. He had a
likable face, or it would have been likable had it been in repose. It
was twitching now, and Gray said, with a smile, "Go ahead and laugh,
son."

The urchin's lips parted in a wide grin, and he spoke for the first
time. "Did the Germans do that?" The effect of his voice was startling,
for it was deep and husky; it was the older man's turn to be astonished.

"He could pass for fifteen on the street," Mallow said; "but when he
talks I chalk him down for thirty-five. How old are you, Ben?"

"Seventeen. What's the big idea, anyhow?" The question was directed
impudently at the occupant of the divan. "Did you send all the way to
Hot Springs to get a guy you can lick?"

"Your mother is here in Dallas, my boy."

"Yeah?" There was a pause. "How's it breaking for her?"

"Um-m, very well. I thought she'd like to see you."

Bennie cocked his head, he eyed the speaker curiously, suspiciously.
"Come clean," he rumbled. "Mallow said you could use me."

"I can. I will."

The boy shrugged. "All right, Sharkey. I s'pose it'll come out, in
time. Only remember, I've got twenty coming, win or lose."

"Of course" Gray waved toward the dresser, upon which was a handful of
bills. "Help yourself. Better make it twenty-five. Then wait outside,
please. We will join you in a few minutes."

"And don't make it thirty," Bennie's traveling companion sharply
cautioned.

When the door had closed, Gray gave his friend certain instructions,
after which he limped to the telephone and called Arline Montague. "May
I ask you to step down to Buddy's room?" he inquired, after making
himself known. "Oh, it will be quite all right--We three must have a
little talk--But he _couldn't_ see you last night. He was quite ill,
really; I sat up with him most of--" There was a longer hiatus then.
"Hadn't we better argue that in Buddy's presence? Thank you. In five
minutes, then."

As he and Gray prepared to leave, Mallow said, sourly: "Margie is a
good little dame, in her way, and I feel like a--like a damned'stool.'"

"My dear fellow," the other told him, "I understand, and I'd gladly
take another beating like this on