"I'd like to have you wait and meet my son, Lieutenant Roswell.
He's just back from overseas, and--the boy served with some
distinction. A father's pride, you understand?"

"Was Lieutenant Roswell in France?" Gray inquired, quickly.

"Oh yes. He'll be in at any minute."

A shadow of regret crossed the caller's face. "I'm sorry, but I've
arranged to call on the mayor, and I've no time to lose. What unit
was your son with?"

"The Ninety-eighth Field Artillery."

The shadow fled. Mr. Gray was vexed at the necessity for haste,
but he would look forward to meeting the young hero later.

"And meanwhile," Roswell, senior, said, warmly, "if we can be of
service to you, please feel free to call upon us. I dare say we'd
be safe in honoring a small check." He laughed pleasantly and
clapped his caller on the back.

A fine man, Gray decided as he paused outside the bank. And here
was another offer to cash a check--the second this morning. Good
address and an expensive tailor certainly did count: with them as
capital, a man could take a profit at any time. Gray's fingers
strayed to the small change in his trousers pocket and he turned
longing eyes back toward the bank interior. Without doubt it was a
temptation, especially inasmuch as at that moment his well-
manicured right hand held in its grasp every cent that he