A SON AT THE FRONT
the end of July; "I don't know yet what George thinks about the Lusitania."
"Oh, yes, you do, sir!" Boylston returned, laughing; "but all the mails from the war-zone," he added, "have been very much delayed lately. When there's a big attack on anywhere they hold up everything along the line. And besides, no end of letters are lost."
"I suppose so," said Campton, pocketing the diary, and trying for the millionth time to call up a vision of his boy, seated at a desk in some still unvisualized place, his rumpled fair head bent above columns of figures or files of correspondence, while day after day the roof above him shook with the roar of the attacks which held up his letters.
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