“Well, I’ll promise,” said the soldier a little wearily, as if it were beyond his strength to prolong the argument. “Where do they live?”
“In New York City,” and Jeanne rapidly penciled the address.
“Then it is utterly out of the question. I can’t promise you.”
“I know,” said Jeanne quickly. “You haven’t any money.”
A flush passed over the Lieutenant’s face.
“Soldiers never do have, Dick says,” went on the girl, taking out her purse in a matter-of-fact way.
“No–no, I–I can’t do that,” groaned the soldier. “Merciful goodness, has it come to this? That I should receive charity from a child!”
“It isn’t charity,” cried Jeanne hotly. “You can pay it back to my father if you like. I want you to get good and strong so that you can fight for us again.”
“I’ll do it,” exclaimed the young fellow impulsively. “A few weeks’ rest would put new life in me. And I’ll be your soldier, little girl.”
“Will you?” cried Jeanne delightedly. “That will be most as good as if I could fight myself, won’t it?”