one appeared to know what had made the Rube so
furious. The porter would not tell, and Mac was strangely reticent,
though his smile was one to make a fellow exceedingly sure something
out of the ordinary had befallen. It was not until I was having
breakfast in Providence that I learned the true cause of Rube's
conduct, and Milly confided it to me, insisting on strict confidence.

"I promised not to tell," she said. "Now you promise you'll never
tell."

"Well, Connie," went on Milly, when I had promised, "it was the
funniest thing yet, but it was horrid of McCall. You see, the Rube had
upper seven and Nan had lower seven. Early this morning, about
daylight, Nan awoke very thirsty and got up to get a drink. During her
absence, probably, but any way some time last night, McCall changed the
number on her curtain, and when Nan came back to number seven of course
she almost got in the wrong berth."

"No wonder the Rube punched him!" I declared. "I wish we were safe
home. Something'll happen yet on this trip."

I was faithful to my promise to Milly, but the secret leaked out
somewhere; perhaps Mac told it, and before the game that day all the
players knew it. The Rube, having recovered his good humor, minded it
not in the least. He could not have felt ill-will for any length of
time. Everything seemed to get back into smooth running order, and the
Honeymoon Trip bade fair to wind up beautifully.

But, somehow or other, and about something unknown to the rest of us,
the Rube and Nan quarreled. It was their first quarrel. Milly and I
tried to patch it up but failed.

We lost the first game to Providence and won the second. The next day,
a Saturday, was the last game of the trip, and it was Rube's turn to
pitch. Several times during the first two days the Rube and Nan about
half made up their quarrel, only in the end to fall deeper into it.
Then the last straw came in a foolish move on the part of wilful Nan.
She happened to meet Henderson, her former admirer, and in a flash she
took up her flirtation with him where she had left off.

"Don't go to the game with him, Nan," I pleaded. "It's a silly thing
for you to do. Of course you don't mean anything, except to torment
Whit. But cut it out. The gang will make him miserable and we'll lose
the game. There's no telling what might happen."

"I'm supremely indifferent to what happens," she replied, with a
rebellious toss of her black head. "I hope Whit get