And George knew that in the end he couldn't refuse without disclosing everything; that his partners wouldn't let him. It added strangely enough to his discomfort that he should leave the disappointed man with a confident feeling that he need make no move to see Sylvia before going to Plattsburgh. In any case, the camp ought to be over before the fifteenth of August. His partners were pleased enough by his recital, and determined to accept Blodgett's offer. "He's the most generous soul that ever lived," Goodhue said, warmly. Lambert agreed, but George thought he detected a troubled light in his eyes. Blodgett's generosity continued to worry George, to accuse him. After all, Blodgett had accomplished a great deal more than he. With only one of the necessities he had made friends, had become engaged to Sylvia Planter. No. There was something besides that. He had had an unaffected personality to offer, and--he had said it himself--a heart that was all right. George asked himself now if Blodgett had helped him in the first place, not because he had been Mr. Alston and Dicky Goodhue's friend, but simply because he had liked him. He was inclined to believe it. He had reached the point where he admitted that many people had been friendly and useful to him because he had what Blodgett lacked, an exceptional appearance, a rugged power behind acquired graces. Squibs, he realized, had put his finger on that long ago. He was glad he was going down. The tutor would give him his usual disciplinary tonic. But it was a changed Squibs that met George; a nearly silent Squibs, who spoke only to praise; a slightly apprehensive Squibs. George tried to reassure Mrs. Bailly. "Three months at Plattsburgh, then nobody knows how much longer to whip our division into shape. The war will probably be over before we get across." But she didn't believe it, nor did her husband. "You'll be in it, George, before the war's over. Do you know, you're nearer paying me back than you've ever been." George was uncomfortable before such adulation. "Please don't think," he protested, "that I'm going over for any tricky ideals or to save a lot of advanced thinkers from their utter folly." "Then what are you going for?" Bailly asked. George was surprised that he lacked an answer. "Oh, because one has to go," he evaded. Bailly's smile was contented. "What better reason could any man want?"