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FLAMING

YOUTH



Osterhout gave a great laugh, partly of relief, partly of tenderness. “That’s so like Mona! Her passion for intrigue, just for the sake of the game itself; her eternal loving cleverness.

There are mighty few people, Pat, in

whom affection is a thing of the mind as well as the heart. Your mother was one of them.” “So’m I,” asserted Pat promptly. “What's the matter now, Bobs?”

—

For his face had altered again, his brow

drawing heavily down, his eyes become still and brooding. “Tt wont do, Pat. You're not telling me the truth.

Not the whole truth.

After your mother died, I changed

the combination of the safe.” The girl’s laugh had a queer, strained quality. you did. What of it?” “How could you get the letters to read?”

“I know

“J couldn't, at first.”

“But you claim that you did. “WWell—it was a dream.

How?”

At least, it must have been a

dream. Or else—I don’t know. Mother came back one night and tock me by the hand and ied me inte her room to the safe, and when I woke up the door was open and the numbers of the combination were in my brain as clearly as if someone had just spoken them in my ear.” “Were you frightened, Pat?” “Not a bit. Isn°t it strange? After that I could open it mysdf, any time.”

4

“Pat, do you really think,” he began hoarsely, and stopped. “Do I think it was her spirit? something.”

“Jt was something,” he repeated. other side.

me.

I dont know.

It was

“Something from the

A lifting of the curtain.

For you; not for

Well,” he sighed, “no more letters.” “Why not?”