"He has been in Paris, Mr. Boswell, studying art, and he is very well. I heard from him a day or so ago."
Roscoe Boswell breathed a sigh of relief.
"How long will he be over there?" he asked.
"He is expected back this week. Perhaps I'll get a letter from him in a day or two."
"Say, would you mind letting me have the letter for publication?" cried Roscoe, quickly. "It would make great reading for his friends here. He's an awfully bright fellow, and his letter would be a corker. Won't you please send it up to me?"
"Oh, I'm sure it wouldn't be good reading, Mr. Boswell," cried Justine, flushing with pleasure. "They are mostly personal, you know, and would sound very silly to other people."
"I'll cut out the love part," he grinned, "and use nothing but the description of Paris or whatever he says about the old country."
"I don't believe he would like it, Mr. Boswell," said she, but in her mind she was wishing that one of his interesting letters could be given to the public. She wanted the people to know how splendidly he was doing.
"We'll risk that," said Roscoe conclusively. "He won't mind, and besides, he won't see it. He don't take the paper, you know. I haven't many subscribers in Chicago just now," he added, reflectively.
"He will come to see me just as soon as he gets back to Chicago and then I'll ask him about it," she said.