POSAL

"What's on for to-night, Burt?"

Mr. St. John, a large automobile manufacturer of New Britain,
Connecticut, looked across the dinner table at his son Burton. The
latter was a boy of seventeen. Although he was sturdy for his age, his
features were pale and denoted hard study. As his father and mother
watched him there was just a hint of anxiety in their faces.

"Lots," replied the boy. "Got a frat meeting on at seven. Then I've got
to finish my last paper for the history prof."

"Can't you let the paper go?" asked his mother. "You've been working
pretty hard, Burt!"

"Yes," added Mr. St. John heartily. "Forget the work, son. You've done
enough papers lately for a dozen boys."

"Not much!" answered Burt earnestly. "I'm goin' to grab that Yale
scholarship. There's only a week till school's out now."

At that moment a maid appeared at the dining room door.

"Mr. St. John, there's a man called, sir. He didn't give me any name
and--"

She was interrupted by a tall, fur-overcoated form that brushed her
aside. The visitor's hawk-like face broke instantly into an eager smile.

"Hello, good people!" cried the man, as Mr. St. John sprang to his feet.
"Forgotten me, Tom?"

"George!"

"Wallace!"

"Uncle George!"

The three members of the family broke into three simultaneous cries of
surprise. The next instant Mrs. St. John was in the arms of the tall
man, who supported her with one hand and with the other greeted her.

"Hello, Burt! How's your grip?" he cried as he released the couple and
seized the hand of their son.

"Ouch!" yelled the boy, his grin changing to an expression of pain. "I
ain't no wooden man!"

"Where on earth did you come from?" exclaimed Mr. St. John, taking his
brother-in-law's big coat and handing it to the astonished maid. "We
haven't heard from you for a year!"

"Give me something to eat, Tom, and I'll talk later." As the hawk-faced
man sat down, Burt gazed at him admiringly. George William Wallace, his
uncle, was the boy's greatest hero. Famous under the name of "George
William" for his books on little-traveled countries, he was known widely
at every end of the world. He had crossed the Turkestan deserts, helped
to survey the Cape to Cairo railway, led armies in China and South
America, and explored the recesses of the Sahara. In his brief intervals
of relaxation he lived with the St. Johns, having no home of his own.

As he gazed, Burt half wished that his own face was not s