-holiday. The autumn afternoon was picture-fine, the
little car ran well, and Patricia's mood was tempered with the gayety
which strives to extract the final thrill of enjoyment out of the
closing days of a delightful vacation. Blount was grateful for the
light-hearted mood. He felt that it would be next to impossible to tell
Patricia how wretchedly he had failed in the single-handed crusade, and,
as to the desperate alternative, there could be no confidences with one
whose every reference to his father was shot through with loving and
loyal admiration.

At the military reservation there were fewer opportunities for the
confidences, or rather fewer temptations to indulge in them. It was a
gala day at the post, and there were a number of auto parties out from
the city. Blount knew most of the officers and their wives, and Patricia
was welcomed not less for her own sake than for the reason that she had
figured in former visits as the _protegee_ of an ex-senator's wife.
After the parade there was an impromptu game of baseball, with the broad
verandas of the officers' quarters serving for the grandstand. Beyond
the game there was tea, and the sunset gun had been fired before the
young lieutenant, who had attached himself to Miss Anners at the
earliest possible moment in the afternoon, reluctantly surrendered his
prize and handed Patricia into the waiting runabout for the return to
the capital.

"We shall be late for dinner, if we don't hurry," was the young woman's
comment when Blount steered the little car clear of the post settlement
and took the road well in the wake of the Weatherford touring machine.
Then she added: "We mustn't be; we are dining out this evening--at the
Gordons."

Blount was entirely willing to hurry. Half of one of the precious days
of challenge had been wasted in the futile search for Gryson, and here
was the other half worse than wasted, since the handsome young
lieutenant had so brazenly monopolized Patricia.

"I'll get you home in time for dinner, never fear," he returned, but
apparently the little car was no party to the promise. A short mile from
the reservation the motor began to miss, and a few minutes farther along
it stopped altogether. Blount got out and began to investigate. There
was plenty of gasolene, but the spark appeared to be dead.

"I ought to have a leather medal!" he confided to Patricia, in great
disgust. "Mrs. Blount told me that the batteries needed to be changed,
and I