“A little of both, I guess,” said Brant, and as he spoke the key of the incandescent lamp snapped and left them in the darkness. Brant laughed and got up to turn it on again. “That is doubtless the snap you heard, and it accounts for the blindness. As for the rest, your brain was simply making another hunt for the missing clew. Does that satisfy you?” “It will have to, I guess.” “Well, then, it is my turn. I want to know why you have been making a bally idiot of yourself for the last week or so.” Antrim hung his head. “Because I haven’t any better sense, I suppose.” “That doesn’t go. Give me the facts.” “There is only one to give: Isabel won’t marry me.” “Oh, she won’t? And so you are going to make a howling wilderness of yourself because a young woman doesn’t happen to know her own mind. Is that it?” “But she does know her own mind,” Antrim protested. “Oh, nonsense! You are no boy, and you ought to know better. If you love her--and I take that for granted--all you have to do is just to hang on and wait; and that is what you are going to do, if I can make you.” Antrim smiled wearily. “The way I feel at this present moment, anybody could make me do anything. I am as weak as a cat, and as sore as if I had been through a prize fight.--What on earth is that?” “That” was a furious pounding on a near-by door, and Brant sprang up, oversetting his chair in his haste. “It’s Jarvis--that’s what it is!” he exclaimed. “Blest if I didn’t forget all about him! Sit in the dark a minute, will you?” and he turned off the light and went to liberate the captive. “Nice fellow, you are!” began Jarvis wrathfully when the door was opened. “Lock a man up while you go off and go to sleep----” Brant broke in with an apology which ran smoothly and without a break until he had walked the reporter down the stair and out into the street. Then he gave Jarvis the required information about the president’s special, and hastened back to Antrim to explain the interruption. “You see, I had to do something with him,” he concluded. “He is a good fellow, but he talks too much, and the less said about this business of yours the better.” “I should say so,” agreed Antrim ruefully, adding, “but it’s no use; the whole town must know about it by this time. I haven’t been at it very long, but I haven’t been hiding my light under a bushel.” “Oh, I don’t know about the publicity. A man doesn’t fill the public eye quite as much as he is apt to think. Besides, you have made your last appearance in the idiotic rôle. Beginning right now, you are going to break it short off and be yourself again. When did you eat last?” “Supper, last night.” “Humph! I thought as much. No wonder you had wheels in your head! Let me help you into your overcoat, and we’ll go up to Elitch’s.” “I don’t believe I could eat anything, if it was to save my life,” objected Antrim, rising laboriously.