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do to get it. Is it so important? I've never known what it was like to be without it so of course I'm not qualified to judge, but it's got me stumped sometimes. I feel like saying 'what is this money thing about?' all the time." He shook his head. "Darned if I can understand it."

"No." Mrs. Hamill's voice was silky-soft. "Of course not, dear. You couldn't. Being Peter's son."

There was no reproach in the words. But it came to Jock that his own words must have sounded harsh, ingrate, under the circumstances. He essayed amendment. "I don't mean about you, mother. You've been simply great. You did all this for me—I know that—and don't think I don't appreciate it. Gee, I should say I do appreciate it! But what I meant——"

His mind put Yvonne aside, loyally, protectively, and seized upon Eunice. "For instance, this: I wrote you about Brad Hathaway, didn't I? Well, I didn't tell you what it was that made him shoot himself, and about his wife. I've never told any of this to a living soul, but I'm about to spill the whole rotten thing—it's primarily what I chased down here to tell you and to ask your advice about. You're not too sleepy, are you? Good. Then listen. And tell me what in time I'm going to do" . . .

III

Bones Allen, like many gentlemen of his years and proclivities, was afraid of other gentlemen's mothers. He regarded them as unnecessary and even obnoxious, and the habit they had of seeming to look straight through his skin to his soul disconcerted him to the

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