Frank led the way townwards. He stopped at the house to put his bicycle away. Then he accompanied his companion to the railroad depot. Here Park Gregson wrote out a telegram and handed it to the operator. “Expect an answer,” he observed. “I’ll call for it. No, send it to me. I say, Newton,” he addressed Frank with friendly familiarity, “where’s the best place to put up till the professor reports himself?” “There’s a fairly good hotel here,” said Frank. Gregson looked a trifle embarrassed for an instant. Then he laughed, saying. “They’ll have to take me in penniless till the professor arrives.” “That will be all right,” declared Frank. “I’ll vouch for you. But say, if you would be our guest at home, you will be very welcome.” “And I will be very delighted to have your most entertaining company,” instantly replied Gregson. “I’ll make it all right when the boss comes.” Frank was glad to offer this hospitality to his new chance acquaintance. The man interested him. Everything he talked about he covered in a vivid way that made his descriptions instructive. Already he had suggested some points to Frank that had set the latter thinking in new directions. The wide experience of the man was suggestive and valuable to Frank. Park Gregson asked the telegraph operator to send any reply to his message to the Newton home, and accompanied Frank there. As they neared the cottage a man in a gig came driving down the road. It was Dorsett. He glared fiercely at Frank, and then bestowed an inquisitive, suspicious look upon the stranger. Frank introduced Gregson to his mother, who prepared a lunch for him. Gregson was more shaken up than he had expressed, and was glad to lie down and rest in the neatly-furnished spare room of the cottage. Frank had some odd chores to do about the village. When he came home again about six o’clock he found Gregson refreshed-looking and comfortably seated in the parlor reading a book. They had a pleasant time at the supper table. Then they adjourned to the cozy little sitting-room. Christmas was allowed to stay in the house, and seemed to enjoy the animated ways of the balloonist as much as the others. Park Gregson fairly fascinated them with the story of his travels and adventures in many countries. “You see, I have been quite a rolling stone, Mrs. Ismond,” he said. “A harmless one, though.” “Have you never thought of settling down to some regular occupation, sir?” suggested Frank’s mother. “It’s not in me, madam, I fear,” declared the knockaround. “I did try it once, for a fact. Yes, I actually went into business.” “What was the line, Mr. Gregson?” asked Frank. “Mail order business.” Frank showed by the expression of his face that the balloonist had struck a theme of great interest to him. “I had a partner,” went on Gregson. “We advertised and sold sets of rubber finger tips to protect the hands of housewives when working about the house.” “Was it a success?” inquired Frank.