ed a wild little smile.

"Oh, no! Not that, sir!" said he. "That might be even worse than a
telegram, I think."

"Why?"

"Well, father would be likely to think that I'd been--been injured and
taken into some swell home, you know, and that I was writing like that
just to reassure him. No," David said firmly, "that would be the worst
possible thing. I'll have to go myself and talk it over with father
and--now if I can have my cap and my coat?"

It came as a familiar refrain. It caused Anthony's eye to darken
suddenly as he sat back and stared at the boy.

"Confound your hat and coat!" he rapped out. "See here, David. You write
the note, and I myself will take it to your father and explain--and be
sure that he will rejoice. There is the desk. Where do you live?"

His tone was not nearly so benevolent. Opposition, as always, was
rousing Anthony's unfortunate stubbornness; with or without reason, had
David but known it, every mention of that cap and coat was diminishing
his chances of walking out of the Lasande--and it is possible that he
sensed something of the kind, for his smile disappeared abruptly, and
the assurance that had been with him was no more.

"I can't tell you where I live!" he said hoarsely.

"In the name of heaven, why not?" Anthony snapped.

"Because--because--well, you may not understand this, sir, but I
promised father I wouldn't tell any one where we live."

"What?"

"I did, and I can't break a promise!" David insisted. "You see, father
was rich once, and he's terribly proud. He doesn't want any one to know
we live in such a poor place, because somebody he used to know might
hear of it and try to help him, and that would break father's heart."

"His heart's in pretty bad shape, isn't it?" Johnson Boller muttered.

"Frightful!" said David. "And that's why I'll have to go now and explain
to him and think it all over and----"

"Why think it over?" Anthony rasped. "Isn't your mind made up now?"

"Of course it is," the boy said hastily. "Only I'll have to tell father
and then come back here in the morning, Mr. Fry; only--_I have, to go
home now_!"

His voice broke strangely.

Anthony Fry looked him over with a quantity of sour curiosity.

If the golden opportunity before his very eyes was making even the trace
of an impression on David Prentiss, the boy's faculty for masking his
true emotions was downright amazing. That bright, rather attractive
young countenance told of absolutely nothi