“No, sir. He telephoned he wouldn’t be home until to-morrow morning.” Gerald gave a sigh of relief as the maid closed the door. “Of course I’m sorry he’s not going to be here for supper,” he explained, “but it might have been difficult to explain the costumes you fellows are wearing. Harry, that coat looks as though you expected to grow a whole lot in the next half hour!” “Well, it may be a bit large,” allowed Harry, “but it’s some coat, just the same. It’s a heap dressier than anything I own. What are we going to do while those things dry, Gerald?” “Anything you like. We’ll go down and have a fire in the library and take it easy. You fellows will stay for supper, you know, and by the time I’ve killed this appetite of mine your clothes will be ready, I guess. Come on down.” For an hour or more they sat in front of the fire and talked of a hundred things, their voices growing drowsier and drowsier as time passed. Then, just when Harry had begun to snore melodiously in his big armchair, supper was announced. In spite of all the dinner they had eaten their afternoon adventures had created fine new appetites, and all three did full justice to the supper. By eight o’clock the clothes were pronounced ready to wear again, and Harry and Kendall changed back to their own garments. Half an hour later the three trudged back to school by way of the village, Gerald having decided, since his father was not to be at home that evening, to return with the others. They parted from Harry at Whitson, after he had been again sworn to secrecy, and, rather tired and very sleepy, crawled the two flights of stairs to Number 28 Clarke. As Kendall lighted the light Gerald caught sight of a card on the table and picked it up. “What the dickens is this?” he said. “‘Charles Phillip Cotton!’ Now who is he and why does he leave a visiting card?” “He’s that chap who rooms with Wellington,” answered Kendall. “The fellow they chased into my room that night. Don’t you remember?” “Oh, that duffer? Well, what does he want here?” “I――I told him I’d be glad to have him look me up. He――he doesn’t know many fellows, and――――” “Oh, I see.” Gerald crumpled up the card and tossed it into the waste basket. “All right, but he must be a silly chump to leave a calling card here. What does he think this is? Fifth Avenue?” “If you’d rather he didn’t call――――” began Kendall. “Not a bit of it. Maybe he’s better than he looks. You ask any fellows you want, Kendall. Personally, I don’t think I’d ever get very fond of Mr. Cotton, but if you like him it’s all right.” “I don’t think I do――very much. Only he seemed kind of out of it, and I thought if he came in here some time he might meet some of the fellows. He’s out for the team, you know.”