you just say the word, old fellow, I'll be with you to-night--and hang
the trip!"

But Dunny, though he wrung my hand gratefully and choked and glared out
of the window, would hear of no such arrangement, repudiated it, indeed,
with scorn.

"No, my boy," he declared. "I don't say it for a minute. I like your
going. I wouldn't give a tinker's dam for you, whatever that is, if you
didn't want to do something for those fellows over there. I won't even
say to be careful, for you can't if you do your duty--only, don't you be
too all-fired foolhardy, even for war medals, Dev."

"Oh, I was born to be hanged, not shot," I assured him, almost
prophetically. "I'll take care of myself, and I'll write you now and
then--"

"No, you won't!" he snorted, with a skepticism amply justified by the
past. "And if you did, I shouldn't answer; I hate letters, always did.
But you cable me once a fortnight to let me know you're living--and send
an extra cable if you want anything on earth!"

The taxi, which had been crawling, came to a final halt, and a hungry
horde, falling on my impedimenta, lowered them from the driver's seat.

"No, I'll not come on board, Dev," said my guardian. "I--I couldn't
stand it. Good-by, my dear boy."

We clasped hands again; then I felt his arm resting on my shoulder, and
flung both of mine about him in an old-time, boyish hug.