s at her. I was handin' myself the
comfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize.

We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitch
until I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the next
thing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose.

"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you too
speedy?"

"N--no," says she, "bub--but that's where Stub is--Camp Mills--and it
got to me sudden."

"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?"

"He--he--Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand and
displayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds.

"Sorry," says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, you
understand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the name
of the camp had to----"

"'Sall right," snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weeps
durin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another session
with his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up."

"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks.

"You've said sumpin," admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanity
case and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a few
graceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He's
all right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beauty
competition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'ny
and all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch that
ambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the West
Side.

"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of the
universe, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case where
Congress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 per
cent. mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin'
for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady,
lady! Excuse it, please, sir."

Which I does cheerful enough. And just to prove I ain't any slave
driver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, to
chat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could have
been in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being a
plumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'.
Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time,
too.

No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him to
the annual ball of Union 26 for two years