weeks were almost over, Quin was allowed to sit up, and
even to walk on the porch. Miss Bartlett found him there one day when she
arrived.

"Aha!" she cried, "I've found you out, Sergeant Slim! You are Cass
Martel's hero, and that's where you heard about me and found out my first
name."

Quin pleaded guilty, and their usual five minutes together lengthened
into fifteen while she gave him all the news of the Martel family. Cass
had taken his old position at the railroad office, and, dear knows, it
was a good thing! And Rose was giving dancing lessons. And what did he
think little old Myrna had done? Adopted a baby! Yes, a baby; wasn't it
too ridiculous! An Italian one that the washwoman had forsaken. And Papa
Claude had given up his lectures at the university in order to write the
great American play. Weren't they the funniest and the dearest people he
had ever known?

It was amazing how intimate Quin and Miss Bartlett got on the subject of
the Martels. He had to tell her in detail just what a brick her cousin
Cass was, and she had to tell him what a really wonderful actor Papa
Claude used to be.

"Captain Phipps says he knows more about the stage than any man in the
country."

"What does the Captain know about it?" asked Quin.

"Captain Phipps? Why, he's a playwright. He means to devote all his time
to the stage as soon as he gets out of the army. You may not believe it,
but he is an even better dramatist than he is a doctor."

"Oh, yes, I do," said Quin; "that's easy to believe."

The sarcasm was lost upon Miss Bartlett, who was intent upon delivering
her message from the Martels. They had sent word that they expected Quin
to come straight to them when he got his discharge, and that his room was
waiting for him.

"And you?" asked Quin eagerly. "You'll be there every Sunday?"

Her face, which had been all smiles, underwent a sudden change. She said
with something perilously like a pout:

"No, I shan't; I'm to be shipped off to school next week."

"School?" repeated Quin incredulously. "What do you want to be going back
to school for?"

"I _don't_ want to. I hate it. It's the price I am paying for that dance
I had with you at the Hawaiian Garden--that and other things."

"What do you mean?"

"Some old tabby of a chaperon saw me there and came and told my
grandmother."

"But what could she have told? You didn't do anything you oughtn't to."

Miss Bartlett shook her head. It was evidently something s