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 could not, at the moment, help regarding Darrow as an obstacle in her son's path.

&quot;I wish the competition were over!&quot; she exclaimed, conscious that her voice had betrayed her. &quot;I hate to see you both looking so fagged.&quot;

Darrow smiled again, perhaps at her studied inclusion of himself.

&quot;Oh, Dick's all right,&quot; he said. &quot;He'll pull himself together in no time.&quot;

He spoke with an emphasis which might have struck her, if her sympathies had not again been deflected by the allusion to her son.

&quot;Not if he does n't win,&quot; she exclaimed.

Darrow took the tea she had poured for him, knocking the spoon to the floor in his eagerness to perform the feat gracefully. In bending to recover the spoon he struck the tea-table with his shoulder, and set the cups dancing. Having regained a measure of composure, he took a swallow of the hot