The week simply whisked itself away, and on Saturday the two boys said good-by to Mr. Bingham and boarded the train for New York. There Loring and Wattles awaited them at the station, and they were borne away to a big house uptown and a cordial welcome from Loring’s father and mother. Mr. Deane was a pink-cheeked, military-looking gentleman who, in spite of his great wealth, seemed to have very little to do and enjoyed doing it hugely. He and the visitors were already good friends and shared a number of small jokes between them. Mrs. Deane was, according to Tom’s frequently expressed judgment, a “pippin’.” Clif, for his part, had more than half fallen in love with her at first meeting, and still adored her shyly. That was a wonderful luncheon partly because it consisted of just the beautiful indigestible things that boys crave after a strict régime of school and partly because they were tremendously hungry. After luncheon there was a quick drive down the asphalt surface of the avenue, a breath-taking lurch into a side street and a hurried alighting before the theater. And they just made it! Loring, borne by Wattles, had scarcely been seated in his chair in the front of the box when the curtain rolled up and the darkened house became a glow of golden radiance. After that, save for brief interludes, Clif forgot that he was in New York and that the time was the humdrum twentieth century. He was in Old France where a gallant gentleman with a stupendous nose made Romance real at last and defeated his enemies――all save one!――with flashing blade or nimble wit. Clif was half-way to Morristown in the train before he finally emerged from the glamour cast upon him by the play. Tom’s guardian, Mr. Winslow, lived in a modest frame house fronted by a few square yards of greening turf and two leafless, contorted mulberry trees. After the Deane mansion, Tom’s home was a come-down, a thought occurring to both boys but uttered only by Tom. “Rather a hovel,” he said as they alighted from a taxi, “but I warned you of that, Clif.” Tom had a big room, sparingly furnished, at the top of the house, and Clif was to share it with him. It was chill and damp up there, for spring had not yet ousted winter from the walls of the old structure.