"Of course I have seen him. But one thing I do know. I owe you over a hundred pounds, and I am going to pay it!"
"But, Flamby," said Don, a startled expression appearing upon his face, "you don't owe it to me at all. You are wrong."
Flamby studied him carefully for awhile. "I am going to send it to Mr. Nevin—I have told him so—and he can settle the matter." She laid her hand on Don's sleeve. "Don't think me silly, or an ungrateful little beast," she said, "but I can't talk about it any more; it makes me want to cry. Did you know that Chauvin got me a commission from the War Office propaganda people to do pictures of horses and mules and things?"
"Yes," replied Don, guiltily. But to his great relief Flamby did not accuse him of being concerned in the matter.
"I felt a rotten little slacker," explained Flamby; "I wrote and told you so. Did you get the letter?"
"Of course. Surely I replied?"
"I don't remember if you did, but I told Chauvin and he recommended my work to them and they said I could do twelve drawings. They accepted the first three I did, but rejected the fourth, which both Hammett and Chauvin thought the best."
"Probably it was. That was why they rejected it. But about this money——"
"Please," pleaded Flamby.
Don looked into her eyes and was silenced. He suppressed a sigh. "Have you seen Paul lately?" he asked.