“Well, I've got something to say on that.” He pulled from his overcoat pocket a largish bundle--Peter always bulged with packages--and held it out for her to see. “Tell the Frau Professor Bergmeister with my compliments,” he said, “that because some idiot at home sent me five pounds of tobacco, hearing from afar my groans over the tobacco here, I have passed from mere financial stress to destitution. The Austrian customs have taken from me to-day the equivalent of ten dollars in duty. I offered them the tobacco on bended knee, but they scorned it.” “Really, Peter?” “Really.” Under this lightness Harmony sensed the real anxiety. Ten dollars was fifty Kronen, and fifty Kronen was a great deal of money. She reached over and patted his arm. “You'll make it up in some way. Can't you cut off some little extravagance?” “I might cut down on my tailor bills.” He looked down at himself whimsically. “Or on ties. I'm positively reckless about ties!” They walked on in silence. A detachment of soldiery, busy with that eternal military activity that seems to get nowhere, passed on a dog-trot. Peter looked at them critically. “Bosnians,” he observed. “Raw, half-fed troops from Bosnia, nine out of ten of them tubercular. It's a rotten game, this military play of Europe. How's Jimmy?” “We left him very happy with your letter.” Peter flushed. “I expect it was pretty poor stuff,” he apologized. “I've never seen the Alps except from a train window, and as for a chamois--” “He says his father will surely send him the horns.” Peter groaned. “Of course!” he said. “Why, in Heaven's name, didn't I make it an eagle? One can always buy a feather or two. But horns? He really liked the letter?” “He adored it. He went to sleep almost at once with it in his hands.” Peter glowed. The small irritation of the custom-house forgotten, he talked of Jimmy; of what had been done and might still be done, if only there were money; and from Jimmy he talked boy. He had had a boys' club at home during his short experience in general practice. Boys were his hobby. “Scum of the earth, most of them,” he said, his plain face glowing. “Dirty little beggars off the street. At first they stole my tobacco; and one of them pawned a medical book or two! Then they got to playing the game right. By Jove, Harmony, I wish you could have seen them! Used to line 'em up and make 'em spell, and the two best spellers were allowed to fight it out with gloves--my own method, and it worked. Spell! They'd spell their heads off to get a chance at the gloves. Gee, how I hated to give them up!” This was a new Peter, a boyish individual Harmony had never met before. For the first time it struck her that Peter was young. He had always seemed rather old, solid and dependable, the fault of his elder brother attitude to her, no doubt. She was suddenly rather shy, a bit aloof. Peter felt the change and thought she was bored. He talked of other things.