e and Forty-second
Street, where he bought roses and a spray of orchids. Then, adding to
his purchases a huge box of bon-bons, he set his course for the three
story and basement house which he had sold to Palla Dumont.

CHAPTER VII

Shotwell Senior and his wife were dining out that evening.

Shotwell Junior had no plans--or admitted none, even to himself. He
got into a bath and later into a dinner jacket, in an absent-minded
way, and finally sauntered into the library wearing a vague scowl.

The weather had turned colder, and there was an open fire there, and a
convenient armchair and the evening papers.

Perhaps the young gentleman had read them down town, for he shoved
them aside. Then he dropped an elbow on the table, rested his chin
against his knuckles, and gazed fiercely at the inoffensive _Evening
Post_.

Before any open fire any young man ought to be able to make up
whatever mind he chances to possess. Yet, what to do with a winter
evening all his own seemed to him a problem unfathomable.

Perhaps his difficulty lay only in selection--there are so many
agreeable things for a young man to do in Gotham Town on a winter's
evening.

But, oddly enough, young Shotwell was trying to persuade himself that
he had no choice of occupation for the evening; that he really didn't
care. Yet, always two intrusive alternatives continually presented
themselves. The one was to change his coat for a spike-tail, his black
tie for a white one, and go to the Metropolitan Opera. The other and
more attractive alternative was _not_ to go.

Elorn Sharrow would be at the opera. To appear, now and then, in the
Sharrow family's box was expected of him. He hadn't done it recently.

* * * * *

He dropped one lean leg over the other and gazed gravely at the fire.
He was still trying to convince himself that he had no particular plan
for the evening--that it was quite likely he might go to the opera or
to the club--or, in fact, almost anywhere his fancy suggested.

In his effort to believe himself the scowl came back, denting his
eyebrows. Presently he forced a yawn, unsuccessfully.

Yes, he thought he'd better go to the opera, after all. He ought to
go.... It seemed to be rather expected of him.

Besides, he had nothing else to do--that is, nothing in
particular--unless, of course----

But _that_ would scarcely do. He'd been _there_ so often recently....
No, _that_ wouldn't do