stlessness in the silent
guest. Instead of sitting quietly upon the porch with his cigar, Perkins
had fallen to pacing up and down with a long, nervous stride. At first
he had seemed moody and fatigued, now he had the appearance of a man
eager to be at something from which he was restrained.

When Tom asked his startled question about the desirable boom, Perkins
got out of his chair with one abrupt movement, threw one leg over the
porch rail, and began suddenly to talk. He could not be said really to
have talked before. Tom listened, his eyes sticking out of his head.

"Bunch of motoring fellows down in town--Mercury Club--want to get up an
auto parade, end with supper somewhere. Hotels at Lake Lucas, Pleasant
Valley, and half a dozen others all crazy to get 'em. Happen to know a
chap or two in town who could swing it out here for you if you cared to
make the bid, and could handle the crowd. Chance for you, if you want
it. Make a big thing of it--lanterns, bonfires, fireworks,
orchestra--regular blow-out."

Tom's breath came in gasps. "Why--why----" he stammered. "How could
we--how could we--afford----What----? How----?"

Perkins threw away the stub of his cigar, chewed to a pulp at the mouth
end. His eyes had an odd glitter. "I've what you might call a bit of
experience in that sort of thing," he said in a quiet tone which yet had
a certain edge of energy. "Going away next week, but might put this
thing through for you, if you cared to trust me."

"But--the money?" urged Tom.

"Willing to stand for that--pay me back, if you make enough.
Otherwise--my risk. Something of a gambler, I am. Club'll pay for the
fireworks--that's their show. Bonfires on the mountains around are easy.
Lanterns cheap. Get special terms on the music--friend of mine can.
Supper's up to you. Can you get extra help?"

"We can manage the supper," agreed Tom, his round cheeks deeply flushed
with excitement. "Say, you're--you're awfully kind. I don't know
why----"

Perkins vaulted over the porch rail. From the ground below he looked
back at Tom. For the first time since he had come to Boswell's Inn Tom
caught sight of the gleam of white teeth, as an oddly brilliant smile
broke out for an instant on the face which was no longer deadly white
but brown with tan. "Son," said Perkins, preparing to swing away down to
the post-office, "I told you I was a gambler. Gambler out of work's the
lamest duck on the shore. Game of booming the Inn interests m