cretary, Poynter, for, let us say the month of January,
it is possible for me to command your attendance at Palm Beach."

"Excellency," said Philip slowly, "singular as it may seem in my
present free lance state, I am greatly desirous of hearing such a
command."

"Poynter," boomed the Baron formally, "in January I shall be
overweighted with diplomatic duties at Palm Beach. I regret
exceedingly that I am forced to command your attendance. This
frivoling about must cease." He shook suddenly with silent laughter.
"Doubtless," said he, meeting Philip's amused glance with level
significance, "doubtless, Poynter, we can--"

"Yes," said Philip with much satisfaction, "I think we can."

They fell to chatting in lower voices as the fire died down.

"Meanwhile," shrugged the disgusted Baron a little later, "I shall
abandon that accursed music-machine to its fate, and rest. God knows I
am but an indifferent nomad and need it sorely. Night and day have I
thunder-cracked the highways, losing my way and my temper until I
loathe camps and motor machines and dust and wind and baked potatoes.
I sincerely hope, Poynter, that you can find me the road to an inn and
a bed, a bath and some iced mint--to-night."

Philip could and did. Presently standing by his abominated motorcycle
on a lonely moonlit road, the Baron adjusted his leather cap and
stroked his beard.

"Do you know, Poynter," said he slowly, "this is a most mysterious
motorcycle. It was crated to me from an unknown village in
Pennsylvania by the hand of God knows whom!"

"Excellency," said Philip politely as he cordially shook hands with his
chief, "The world, I find, is full of mystery."

Rumbling the Baron mounted and rode away. With a slight smile, Philip
watched him thunder-cracking disgustedly along the dusty road back to
civilization.

CHAPTER XXV

A DECEMBER SNOW STORM

As the dusty wanderers wound slowly down into southern Georgia on a
mild bright day, a December snow storm broke with flake and flurry over
the Westfall farm. Whirling, crooning, pirouetting, the mad white
ghost swept down from the hills and hurled itself with a rattle of
shutters and stiffened boughs against the frozen valley. By nightfall
the wind was wailing eerily through the chimneys; but the checkerboard
panes of light one glimpsed through the trees of the Westfall lane were
bright and cheery.

In the comfortable sitting room of the farmhouse, Carl rose and drew
the s