A SON AT THE FRONT
bring in immense sums of money—whereas, Boylston grimly hinted, they already had a large balance in the bank, and it was with an eye to that balance that Mme. de Dolmetsch was forcing Mayhew to press her claim.
"You see, sir, Mr. Mayhew never turns out to be as liberal as they expect when they first hear him talk; and though Mme. de Dolmetsch has him in her noose she's not getting what she wants—by a long way. And so they've cooked this up between them—she and Mme. Beausite—without his actually knowing what they're after."
Campton stopped short, releasing Boylston's arm. "But what you suggest is abominable," he exclaimed.
"Yes. I know it." But the young man's voice remained steady. "Well, I wish you'd come to our meetings, now you're back."
"I will—I will! But I'm no earthly use on financial questions. You're much stronger there."
He felt Boylston's grin through the darkness. "Oh, they'll have me out too before long."
"You? Nonsense! What do you mean?"
"I mean that lots of people are beginning to speculate in war charities—oh, in all sorts of ways. Sometimes I'm sick to the point of chucking it all. But Miss Anthony keeps me going."
"Ah, she would!" Campton agreed.
As he walked home his mind was burdened with
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