Dalrymple was surprised when he entered the Y. M. C. A. quarters to find them busy and crowded. He sent in his card, then seated himself at the end of a line of waiting men. He wondered if, by any chance, they could be applicants like himself, and his complacency vanished when he learned that they could be—that, indeed, they were. His surprise deepened when he saw that in no wise did they resemble psalm-shouters and Testament-worms such as he had expected, but that, on the contrary, they looked like ordinary, capable business and professional men. Dimples wondered if this were, after all, a competitive service. He broke into a gentle, apprehensive perspiration. His name was called finally; he rose and followed a boy into a room where several men were seated at a table. Two of them were elderly, typical; they wore various unbecoming arrangements of white whiskers, and one glance told Dimples that they knew a lot about God. One of the others resembled a judge, and he it was who spoke first. “You wish to go to France for the Y. M. C. A.?” the latter inquired. “Yes, sir. They wouldn’t let me in at Plattsburg. I’m too fat, or the camp is too small. I’d very much like to go overseas.” “It is hardly necessary to ask if you have had experience in promoting social entertainments and recreations.” The speaker smiled. Dimples’s face broke into an answering grin. “‘Entertainments!’ ‘Recreations!’ They are my stock in trade. I’m an authority on all kinds of both; that’s what ails me.” Another member of the board inquired: “Are you a temperate man, Mr. Dalrymple?” “Oh no!” Dimples shook his head. “Not at all.” “What sort of—er—beverages do you drink?” “What have you got?” the young giant blithely asked. Noting that his comedy met with no mirthful response, he explained more seriously: “Why, I drink practically everything. I have no particular favorites. I dare say it’s against your rules, so I’ll taper off if you say so. I’d take the Keeley to get across. Of course I make friends easier when I’m moderately lit—anybody does. I’m extraordinarily cheerful when I’m that way. You’ve no idea how—” “Surely you understand that we tolerate no drinking whatever?” “No, sir; I didn’t fully understand. I know several Christian young men who drink—more or less. However, that’s all right with me. I’ve never tried to quit drinking, so I’m sure I can.” “Are you familiar with the character and the aims of the Young Men’s Christian Association?” One of the white-bearded gentlemen put this question. “In a general way only. I knew you had a gym and a swimming-tank and ran some sort of a Sunday-school. It never appealed to me, personally, until I heard about this work you’re doing in France. That’s my size. That fits me like a pair of tights.” “Do you play cards?” “Certainly. I’m lucky, too. Any game the boys want, from bridge to black jack.” “I mean—do you play for money?”