to floor the old boy was when either he or Jim got mad and threatened to give up school and go to work so as to take some of the load from the old pater’s shoulders.  So they were glad, actually glad, when the war came along and gave them a chance not only to serve their country and earn some money—­ even if it was only a miserable pittance—­ so that they could send some home to their dad and feel that they had stopped being a drag upon him.  He used to tell me,” Frank went on, for the spell of those old thrilling times was strong upon him again, “with tears in his eyes—­ and I’ll tell you there was no braver man in all the American army than Arnold Dempsey; he was good for two Boches any day—­ that it would be the happiest moment of his life when he got back to the old country and announced to his proud and admiring pater that he had come home to turn the tables; that Jimmy and he were going to make the old fellow take a rest and do the work themselves for a change.  And he asked me, in case anything did happen to him and Jimmy, to be kind to his dad and try to make up to him as much as I could.  I gave him my promise that night.”  Frank looked about the intent group of faces soberly, “In case the boys had been killed, I would have regarded it as a sacred trust.”

Something swelled in the girls’ hearts and for a moment they could not speak.  Then,

“I guess we all love you for that, Frank,” said Betty simply.  With a little nod of her head toward the slip of paper he still held, she added:  “What about that—­ now?”

Frank looked down at the slip of paper for a moment uncomprehendingly, for his thoughts had been far away.

“Oh, the note,” he said.  “Why, that was only to be given to his father in case anything happened, you know.  But now that the boys are coming back to him themselves, I suppose the thing is worthless.”  He made a motion as though to tear the note up, but Grace stopped him with a quick exclamation.

“Don’t!” she cried, adding as they all looked at her in surprise:  “Don’t you suppose there might be something in it that would give us a clue to the professor’s whereabouts now, perhaps?  Don’t you think it would be wise to look, at least?”

But Frank slowly shook his head.

“Arnold Dempsey’s message, written to his dad when he thought he might never see him again, doesn’t belong to us,” he said decidedly.  “The note was given in trust to me, and since I can’t deliver it—­ or at least, since there is now no reason for delivering it—­ the only thing I can honorably do is this.”  And very slowly and very decidedly he tore the note into little bits and threw the pieces among the wild roses at the side of the porch.

It was the first real glimpse the girls had had of the man who had come back in the old Frank’s place, and with all their hearts they admired him.

Even Grace, who had seemed inclined to pout a little, could not but admit that the action was splendid in him.