I've got a pull with a pretty high-up man and it almost looks as if I might make it, unless he takes a dislike to my red hair, or my frankness of speech. But you, Dana, what are you going there for? The same errand? Say, how about a partnership? If they dislike my red hair I'll tell them I have a humdinger of a fella with hair like a morning sunrise. How's that? They pays their money and they takes their choice. But I thought you had a swell job. Weren't you training in a publisher's outfit? Didn't that pan out all right?"

"Oh, yes. It's all right. I'm hard at work right now for them. Only I'm off for a few days. I'm not hunting a job."

"Just going for your health?" questioned his friend, studying him quizzically. "But you look fairly healthy."

A shadow crossed Dana's face. His gaze fell for an instant, thoughtfully, his straight brows drew in a troubled line.

Then he lifted his eyes to his friend's face again, and there was a kind of appeal in them, as if he dreaded putting into words what he was about to say.

"I'm going to see my mother, Bruce!" He tried to make his voice sound natural, as if it were a simple statement he was making.

But the other looked his utter astonishment.

"Your--mother!" he said staring in bewilderment. "Why, but I thought your mother was dead. I thought she died long ago when you were a little chap, only a baby."

Dana's face was very grave and tired-looking as he answered.

"Did I ever tell you that, Bruce?"

Carbury summoned a dazed thoughtfulness.

"Why, I don't know whether you ever did or not, kid. Maybe I just assumed it. But I'm sure you never denied it. I guess maybe we weren't talking much about mothers just then. I know mine was terribly ill when I came to college and I didn't know whether I should ever see her again. As a matter of fact she died early in my first college year, just before I got to know you well. I don't suppose I said much about her when I got back from the funeral. My loss was too new. I couldn't bear to talk about it. I just dropped back into the old life and tried to forget."

"I remember!" said Dana, and pressed his lips together as if the memory brought back something of pain of his own.

"Well, but I don't understand, old man. Did she die, and did your father marry again? Or what?"

"No, he didn't marry again," said Dana. "It was just what."

"Do you mean--" Carbury was perplexed. "Were they divorced--or--! Listen, Dana, tell me about it if you want to. If you'd rather not, just shut up. I won't ever say another thing about it. It won't change our relations, no matter what it is."

A brilliant smile broke over Dana's face, lighting up his eyes and bringing out the gold in his close-cropped curly hair.

"I know, Bruce. Of course. Thank you! I've always known you were like that.