a lot to him. I wish I could find it, if only to send him back to the farm. I'll bet a cookie it's in some of his coat pockets this minute, and he hanging down here to nab me. Sure, I bought a new suit—had to, before I could get a job. By the way, Betty, if you need some cash" He patted his pocket invitingly.
"Oh, I have enough," Betty assured him hastily. "I'd feel better if the Littells would only let me spend a little money. Why, what's this?"
For Bob had put a small white envelope into her reluctant hands.
"That's the loan," he said gravely. "I've carried it just like that for days, ready to give you the first time I saw you. You're a great little pal, Betty. If it hadn't been for you, I never should have got to Washington."
Betty put the money away in her purse, conscious that it meant self-denial on the lad's part, but knowing that she would hurt his pride irreparably did she refuse to take it.
"Have you written to Mr. Bender?" she prodded gently. "You promised to, Bob."
The police recorder had taken a warm interest in Bob, and Betty knew from his wife's letters that he was anxious to hear from him.
"I will write," promised Bob. "I'm tired at night, Betty, and that's the truth. I never seem
