"Colombia air is pretty fine, but New Hampshire air is better--for old New Hampshire boys," asserted Waldron. He nodded at a red-capped porter waiting near, and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "This chap is going to be all right when he gets where a certain little mother can look after him. Mothers and blood poisoning don't assimilate a bit. And now we have to be off, for I want to get my patient settled in his berth before the train pulls out, and it's going to be called in about thirty seconds." He turned aside for a final word with Julius. "I'm not asking too much?" "Do you think you are?" The two pairs of eyes searched each other. "I know Miss Dorothy is an orphan; I know, too, that you are her only brother. You understand that I mean to ask her to marry me, if I can have the chance. I couldn't do it--on paper. If you approve the match--and I think you do or you wouldn't have planned quite so cleverly last July--" "What?" "You brought about that meeting, you know," said Waldron, smiling, with such a penetrating look that Julius felt it go past all defenses. "How do you know I did?" "By a certain peculiar twist to your left eyebrow when that train came in from the wrong direction. You forget that I went to school with you. I have seen that twist before; it meant only one thing." "Well, I'll be--see here, it was after dark when that train--" "The hotel hand had a lantern. You unwisely allowed its rays to strike your face." Julius burst into a smothered laugh. "Well, you're a good one!" "I'm glad you think so--since I'm asking of you this thing you so dislike to do." "I don't dislike it; I'm delighted to have the chance. I'll have her on that train if I have to blindfold her." "Don't do that. Show her the card." The two shook hands with a strong grip of affection and understanding. Then Waldron, wheeling the chair himself, took his friend Hackett away as carefully as if he were convoying a baby. Julius, after seeing the party through the gates, went back to his college rooms, his wits busy with the task which so took hold of his fancy. Julius would have enjoyed scheming involvedly, but Waldron had been too peremptory about that to allow of a particle of intrigue. So, before he slept, he sent his sister a special-delivery letter knowing she would receive it in the morning. It stated, after describing the situation to her (with a few private and characteristic touches of his own), that he would call her up by telephone to receive her reply, and that he would go through the city on a certain afternoon train on which she was to join him. This plan would give the pair time for a leisurely dinner in Boston before meeting Waldron upon the ten o'clock train. When he had Dorothy on the wire next morning he was not surprised that her first words were these: "Julius--is it surely Julius? Well--I don't see how I can go!" "Why not? Got the mumps--or any other disfiguring complaint?"