n their side. Wally
might be there in spirit, but Mrs. Bryce did not allow him to express
it.

The twelfth day since their return was a dark one for everybody. Max and
Wally had to meet the enemy at eleven, in the lawyer's office. The air
was electric with Mrs. Bryce's irritability. She left the two culprits
in a state of collapse.

"One more performance like that, and I shall marry Jean Jacques Petard,
and disappear," announced Isabelle, violently, as the door closed on
them.

"Isabelle, don't talk like that," begged Miss Watts.

"Let's go back to Bermuda; I hate it here!" said the girl, going to the
window. "We've got to get out of this hateful house. The spy will be
busy this morning, so we'd better make the best of it."

A motor drew up to the curb and a man got out, looking up at the
numbers.

"O my Lord!" cried Isabelle, as if it were a prayer. She ran out of the
room and down the hall, with Miss Watts, startled into action, hurrying
after her. Before the bell sounded, Isabelle had the door open. Captain
O'Leary looked, first surprised and then delighted.

"Cricket!" said he.

"Larry--Larry!" she cried.

He took both her hands and beamed on her--beamed. Then suddenly he was
aware of Miss Watts, and he surprised everybody, including himself, by
saluting that lady's cheek.

"Captain O'Leary!" she exclaimed, and kissed him back.

They all went into the living room, talking in chorus--asking questions,
answering them--incoherent and excited.

"Larry, when did you come?"

"Just landed. Where are your parents?"

"They're out. Oh, I'm in an awful lot of trouble with them."

"Why didn't ye tell me ye were leavin' down there?"

"I thought you knew. We left on a cable from Wally to hurry home. I told
everybody."

"I didn't know. What's this trouble ye speak of?"

"I oughtn't to begin the moment you come."

"Yes, ye ought. Let's hear."

Miss Watts gave a deep sigh of relief. Isabelle began the story of her
patriotism. Here and there Larry asked a question, and when the climax
was reached, he leaned back and roared. Isabelle's eyes suddenly misted
with tears.

"Oh, but Larry, it isn't funny, it's awful! He's trying to make Wally
pay a lot of money for my letters, and if Wally doesn't pay up, he is
going to sell them to a nasty society sheet called _Chit-Chat_."

His face was grave enough to suit her now.

"Where is the little whelp?"

"He's usually across the street looking at the house, or fo