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FLAMING

YOUTH

“Bobs, what do you really think of Monty?” She had gone to his office, nerved up to the interview. QOsterhout considered. “He means well,” was his judicial pronunciamento. “What a rotten thing to say about a girl’s best young man! What's the matter with him?” “Stupid.” “Then you didn’t really mean your congratulations.” “Certainly. It’s an excellent engagement.” “Am I stupid, Bobs?” she pouted. “No. But I think you'll be perfectly satisfied witha stupid husband.” “JT don*t know what makes you so revolting today

complained Pat.

“I'd be bored to death with a boob

around the house, and you Know it. He's not stupid.” “Tf you're satisfied, I am,” said the amiable Bobs. “I don’t have to live with him. He's a prize beauty all right. And rich!” “There you go again. Idon’t care. (Defiantly) I love Monty, and that’s enough. Anyway I didn't come here

to talk about him exactly.

It’s something else.

do many girls confess to their doctors?” Osterhout looked up sharply and frowned.

Bobs, Almost

word for word Mona had put that same query te him years before.

But Pat’s face was more child-like, graver,

than that of the lovely, laughing, reckless Mona had been. “Probably more than to their priests,” he made reply. “That's what a doctor is for.” “Yes she cried eagerly. “Please be just the Fentriss family physician for a few minutes. Make it easy for me, Bobs dear.”

Indefinably his manner changed with his next words, became quietly attentive, soothing, almest impersonal as