"Dick Swann? Do you work for him?"

"No. For the superintendent, Mr. Fryer. But I go to Dick's office to
do letters for him some of the time."

She appeared frank and nonchalant, evidently a little proud of her
important position. She posed before Lane and pirouetted with fancy
little steps.

"Say, Dare, won't you teach me a new dance--right from Paris?" she
interposed. "Something that will put the shimmy and toddle out of
biz?"

"Lorna, I don't know what the shimmy and toddle are. I've only heard
of them."

"Buried alive, I'll say," she retorted.

Lane bit his tongue to keep back a hot reprimand. He looked at his
mother, who was clearing off the supper table. She looked sad. The
light had left her worn face. Lane did not feel sure of his ground
here. So he controlled his feelings and directed his interest toward
more news.

"Of course Dick Swann was in the service?" he asked.

"No. He didn't go," replied Lorna.

The information struck Lane singularly. Dick Swann had always been a