"Quit? Not a bit of it. We must see to that. And little Steve--how is
the back?"

"He's twelve. The back hurts a lot, but he is happy enough, if you give
him a pencil. They're all with us now."

"Ah, well, well. I think you have made something out of it after all,
Wickes. And we must see about Robert."

Thirty-one years at the desk! And to show for it a home for his wife and
himself, a daughter in a home of her own, a son dead for his country,
leaving behind him a wife and two lads to carry the name--was it worth
while? Yes, by Jove, it was worth it all to be able to give a man like
Stephen Wickes to his country. For Stephen Wickes was a fine stalwart
lad, a good soldier, steady as a rock, with a patient, cheery courage
that nothing could daunt or break. But for a man's self was it worth
while?

Jack had no thought of wife and family. There was Adrien. She had been a
great pal before the war, but since his return she had seemed different.
Everyone seemed different. The war had left many gaps, former pals had
formed other ties, many had gone from the town. Even Adrien had drifted
away from the old currents of life. She seemed to have taken up with
young Stillwell, whom Jack couldn't abide. Stillwell had been turned
down by the Recruiting Officer during the war--flat feet, or something.
True, he had done great service in Red Cross, Patriotic Fund, Victory
Loan work, and that sort of thing, and apparently stood high in the
Community. His father had doubled the size of his store and had been a
great force in all public war work. He had spared neither himself nor