When he reached the head of the stairs he saw that the door of Number 28 was wide open. A flood of yellow light filled the end of the hall. Probably Gerald had callers, he thought irritably, and he didn’t want to have to talk with anyone this evening. Luckily, however, it would soon be supper time. But when he entered the room he found Gerald, a thick ulster on and a cap in his hand, quite alone. Dan’s coonskin coat lay over the back of a chair. “I thought you’d never come,” said Gerald gayly. “Put your kitty-coat on and don’t stand there staring. You’re going to dinner with me to-night.” “No, thanks, Gerald,” said Dan. “I――I don’t feel up to it.” “You will when you get there,” replied Gerald, seizing the fur coat and holding it invitingly open. “I’m tired,” demurred the other. But nevertheless he worked his arms into the sleeves and Gerald clapped a cap onto his head: “Come on. The car will be here in a minute. We’ll take a spin first and get up an appetite.” Dan’s face lighted. An automobile ride sounded good. “But I’ll have to see Collins and get leave,” he said undecidedly. “No, you won’t. That’s all fixed. There’s the car now. Come on!” On the way downstairs Gerald said: “By the way, I asked Tooker to come along and bring another fellow. You don’t mind, do you? I thought we might as well fill the car while we were about it.” Dan did mind, but didn’t say so. In front of Clarke stood a big black touring car, its searchlights already casting white floods of light along the gravel drive. The chauffeur left the seat as the boys came down the steps and stood at attention, touching his cap to them. “Hello, Higgins!” said Dan. “How are you?” “Nicely, Mr. Dan. You’re well, sir, I hope?” “Fine and dandy, Higgins,” replied Dan, feeling at the moment that this was really so. Gerald spoke for a moment in low tones with Higgins and then took the driver’s seat, remarking in what seemed an unnecessarily loud tone: “We’re going to take a ride first, Higgins. Get on the running board and I’ll take you as far as the station.” “Very well, sir.” Gerald honked the horn and in a moment two boys appeared from around the corner of Clarke. Each carried a bag in his hand. One proved to be Ned Tooker and the other was Kendall Burtis. “I asked them to spend the night with me,” explained Gerald carelessly to Dan. “You fellows dressed warm enough?” he asked them. “I’ve got on everything I own,” replied Ned as they dropped their bags on the floor of the tonneau and climbed in. Dan took the front seat with Gerald, Higgins slammed the door and mounted the running board and the big car slid noiselessly down the circling drive. At the station it slowed down and Higgins jumped off, touched his cap and said, “There’s about eighteen gallons in her, Mr. Gerald.” “All right, Higgins. Good night.” “Good night, sir.”