ung fellow who
kept watch at the window overlooking the Park. That he was greatly
worried was evident from the two tense furrows in his brow, and from
the way his eyes scanned the street below.

"The devil!" he grumbled. "I wonder if Billy's missed his
train--another Adirondack express late, I suppose." He flicked the
ashes from his cigarette and, wheeling sharply, touched a bell.

"John," he said, as the noiseless old steward entered.

"Yes, Mr. Randall."

"Find out at the desk if a Mr. William Holcomb from Moose River has
called or telephoned."

"Very good, sir."

"He's a tall, sun-burned young man, John--and he may be waiting below.
You understand."

"I'll go and see, sir," and the steward turned.

"And, John--tell August we shall be five at luncheon."

The next moment two hands gripped him from behind by both shoulders.

"Well! I'm glad _you're_ here, Keene, at any rate!" cried Randall
as he smashed the bell hard. "Two dry Martinis"--this to the
yellow-waistcoated steward now at his elbow. "It's Billy Holcomb
you've come to meet. He wrote me he was coming to New York on business
and I made him promise to come here first. He and I hunted together
last fall and I wanted you and Brompton to know him. What I'm afraid
of is that he has missed the night express. Moose River's a long ways
from the railway, and you know what an Adirondack road is this time of
year. I hope The Players won't scare him."

"Oh! we'll take care of him," laughed Keene good-humouredly. "Thank
God he's not a celebrity; I'm sick of celebrities. It'll be a treat to
meet a plain human being. Hello! here comes Brompton!"

Randall rose to his feet.

"Glad you could come, old man. There's only five of us--you, and
Keene, Sam Thayor, and a friend of mine from the woods. Touch the bell
and give your order."

Again the noiseless John appeared.

"Any news, John?"

"Yes, sir; Mr. Holcomb is waiting for you below, and Mr. Thayor has
telephoned he will be here in a moment."

Jack started for the stairs.

"Good!" he cried. "I'll be back in a second."

If the actor and Keene had expected to see a raw-boned country boy,
reticent and ill at ease, they got over it at the first glance. What
they saw approaching with his arm in their host's was a young man of
twenty-three, straight as an arrow, with the eyes of an eagle; whose
clean-cut features were so full of human understanding that both the
actor and Keene fell to wondering if Randall was