It is your duty." "If you belong to the Black Bear Patrol," began the boy, "and have all the fine things you want--as the members of that patrol do--what did you want to go an' do this thing for?
What's your name ?" "George Fremont.

What is yours ?" "Jimmie McGraw," was the reply.

"I'm second assistant to the private secretary to the woman who scrubs here nights.

She'll be docking me if I don't get busy," he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his keen gray eyes.

"Or, worse, she'll be comin' in here an' findin' out what's goin' on." "Why didn't one of you come in here before I got to the top of the stairs ?" asked Fremont, illogically.