"But if Wilfred was at it," I goes on, "and didn't want you to find him, he wouldn't have sent this from there, would he?" Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--I suppose not." "Must be somewhere within strikin' distance of Philadelphia, though," says I. "Now, what camp is near?" "Couldn't we wire someone in Washington and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss. "Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official answer from the Secretary of War about 11 A.M. next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call up Whitey Weeks." They don't know everything in newspaper offices, but there are mighty few things they can't find out. Whitey, though, didn't even have to consult the copy desk or the clippin' bureau. "About the nearest big one," says he, "is the Ambulance Corps Camp at Allentown. Somewhere up on the Lehigh. S'long." Here was another jolt for Mrs. Stanton Bliss. The Ambulance Corps! She near keeled over again, just hearin' me say it. Oh, oh! Did I really believe Wilfred could have been as rash as that? "Why," says she, "they drive right up to the trenches, don't they? Isn't that fearfully dangerous?" "War isn't a parlor pastime," puts in Mr. Robert. "And the ambulance drivers take their chances with the rest of the men. But there's no fightin' going on at Allentown. If Wilfred is there----" "If he is," cuts in Mrs. Bliss, "I must go to him this very moment." Some way that statement seemed to cheer Mr. Robert up a lot. "Naturally," says he. "I'll look up a train for you. Just a second. In the A's. Allentown--Allen. Ah, page 156. M-m-m. Here you are. First one starts at 2 A.M. and gets you in at 5.15. Will that do?" Mrs. Bliss turns on him sort of dazed, and blinks them round eyes of hers. She's a fairly well put up old girl, you know, built sort of on the pouter-pigeon type, but with good lines below the waist, and a complexion that she's taken lots of pains with. Dresses real classy, and, back to, she's often mistaken for daughter Marion. Travels in quite a gay bunch, I understand, with Mr. Stanton Bliss kind of trailin' along behind. Usually, when she ain't indulgin' in hysterics, she has very fetchin' kittenish ways. You know the kind. Their specialty's makin' the surroundin' males jump through the hoop for 'em. But when it comes to arrivin' anywhere at 5.15 A.M.--well, not for her. "I should be a sight," says she. "You'd still be a mother, wouldn't you?" asks Mr. Robert. It was rough of him, as he was given to understand by the looks of all three ladies present, includin' Mrs. Robert; so he tries to square himself by lookin' up a ten o'clock train, all Pullman, with diner and observation. "I would gladly take you up myself," says he, lyin' fluent, "if I didn't have to go back to my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, I suppose." "Of course," says Vee.