essed," he thought.

What a day it had been for him so far! He had had a little chat with
Margaret Ellison, she had said she liked him--anyway, she had almost
said it, and she had taken the little emblem from him and had said that
_if he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it_. He remembered the
very words. Then he had gone downstairs and received this overwhelming
news from Mr. Temple. What if he _had_ planted his seeds wrong and bored
holes slantingways instead of straight? He was so proud and happy now
that he added the official, patented scout smile to his sumptuous
regalia and smiled all over his face.

He was usually rather timid about speaking to the men in the bank unless
they spoke to him first, for the bank was an awesome place to him; but
to-day he was not afraid, and his recollection of the pleasant little
chat upstairs reminded him of a fine thing to do.

"Is Rossie Bent here?" he asked, stopping at the teller's cage.

"Bent!" called the teller.

Tom waited in suspense.

"Not here," called a voice from somewhere beyond.

"Not here," repeated the teller, and added: "Asleep at the switch, I
dare say."

Evidently the people of the bank had Roscoe's number. A strange feeling
came over Tom which chilled his elation and troubled him. Irresistibly
there rose in his mind a picture of a waiting automobile, of a dark
figure, and a silent departure late at night.

"I guess maybe he's just stopped to register, hey?" said Tom.

"Stopped for something or other, evidently," said the teller.

"Could I speak to Mr. Temple's secretary?" Tom asked.

Mr. Temple's secretary, a brisk little man, came out, greeting Tom
pleasantly.

"Congratulations," said he.

"I meant to ask Mr. Temple if I could have a couple of reserved seat
tickets for the patriotic meeting to-night," said Tom, "but I was kind
of flustered and forgot about it. I could get them later, I guess, but
if you have any here I'd like to get a couple now because I want to give
them to some one."

"Yes, sir," said the secretary, in genial acquiescence; "just a minute."

Tom went up in the elevator holding the two tickets in his hand. If his
joy was darkened by any growing shadow of apprehension, he put the
unpleasant thought away from him. He was too generous to harbor it; yet
a feeling of uneasiness beset him.

As he entered the office, Margaret Ellison, smiled broadly.

"You knew what it was?" he said boldly.

"Certainly I knew, and isn