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 tales of his father's exploits. For Mr. Silva as well as for the boy, Captain Andrew Minas was a demigod.

There were long periods during which Paul yearned to be friendly with boys who knew how to make capital of his affection. And, although he learned to discriminate, he couldn't resist overtures. Those boys got his tops and marbles at scandalous bargains. But there was a definite limit to Paul's compliance and their knowledge of that fact created a margin of deference, even while they chafed under an authoritativeness they couldn't analyze. When the limit was exceeded Paul resorted to the umbrella expedient. How many times did he allow his feelings to be buffeted until, wounded to the quick by a heedless remark, he turned and pierced his victim with sharp words aimed at his betrayer's most secret weakness! An accomplishment that caused the victim momentary pain, dying away into vague spite, and Paul prolonged tortures of penitence.

His most reliable friend was Mark Laval, who was tabooed by most of the others. If Paul was freakish, he at least toed the mark in respect of manners and clean handkerchiefs, but his friend, two years older, was a ragamuffin with a shock of dusty hair, a great toothy mouth in an ugly face, and only a dog-like fidelity to commend him. Although Paul had always been conscious of Mark Laval as a sympathetic figure in his background, their friendship dated from a certain afternoon in his tenth year, when, on getting up from the piano he saw Mark seated under the cherry tree, chewing grass-stalks and dreaming. Strangely elated, Paul stole back to play his showiest solo, after which, on finding Mark in the same pensive attitude, he opened the door as casually as though he knew nothing of the other's presence.

Mark ceased pulling at the grass and looked up bashfully. As a means of breaking the ice, Paul slid down