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 back to New York, dined her at a café in the Village, taken her to the Music Box Revue and afterward somewhere to sup and dance, he returned and roused his mother from a sound sleep, saying, "Well, how 'bout it?"

Mrs. Hamill, for all her pardonable drowsiness, interpreted this question correctly. "I think she's a dear," she answered heartily.

"I knew you would!" Jock exclaimed, and seating himself on the edge of the bed waited expectantly for more.

More was forthcoming. "And so beautiful she takes your breath away, doesn't she?" said Mrs. Hamill, patting back a yawn. "Her hair is the loveliest I've ever seen. I liked her clothes, too. Good taste. If you'd brought me a daughter in a chorus-girl hat I couldn't have stood it. She must have money?"

The interrogation point at the end of those words was as a hook that caught Jock by the collar and yanked him down to earth. He frowned. "Some. That is, she did have some. She hasn't much right now." Perceiving that this was too vague, he indulged in a slight fabrication, "She lost all she had in the stock market."

"Oh, what a pity! And she's quite alone in New York, didn't she say?"

"Yeah."

"Where are her people?"

"Dead. They've been dead for years. An aunt in Ohio brought her up." He got to his feet, in order to discourage further inquiry. "Well, guess I'll turn in. Sorry to have waked you, little sleepy-head, but I wanted to know what you thought of her. She thought you were a peach."

"Then," said Mrs. Hamill, snuggling into the pil-