"Home, James," said Mr. Cluett. Then, as he roused himself from an attack of pensiveness, during which he had been making little unconscious passes with his arms, accompanied by swift light jerks of the shoulders he added thoughtfully, "Some class to that fellow, Bob." "Class is right," said Mr. Masterman; "but no more masks for us, boy. Never again." "Oh, I don't know," pondered Nick Cluett; "I'd fight him again, mask and all, just to learn something about that style of guard he's got. Fightin' them other dubs will never get me anywhere: it's too much like bowling." After turning a few corners, the car was halted near a big seven-story, midtown block, the ground floor of which was occupied by a sporting goods store on one side, and a great bright-windowed restaurant on the other. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" said Mr. Masterman, bustlingly, clicking open the fore and tonneau doors of the automobile; "everybody change!" "Order up a little supper, Bob, after you run the car in," said Nick Cluett as, leaving Masterman to take the car to the garage at the back, he followed the girls to the elevator entrance. The elevator rose slowly. Daisy, standing with her arm through that of the nonchalant Miss Yockley, felt her nerves tauten as though they were being wound with a key. Her wits sharpened automatically to meet the situation into which her daring had projected her. The rapid, virile beat of her blood made her tingle pleasantly, and brought a color into her cheeks that caused the ever-observant Miss Stella to remark, as they stepped out of the elevator: "Say, kid, we got to get a picture of you." Cluett thrust a key into the shining brass lock of a door halfway along the corridor; swung it open; and, glancing inscrutably sidewise at Daisy, motioned inward with his hand. Daisy, following close on Miss Yockley's heels, found herself in an apartment with two wall-beds that, hooked up into place, showed as nothing but a pair of full-length mirrors, with dressing-brackets at either side that served as legs when the beds were let down. Gus, the janitor, had tidied the place. Canvas shoes and sweaters had been gathered into the clothes-closet. The big porcelain tub in the bathroom had been polished until it shone white and clean. The green carpet had been gone over with a vacuum cleaner. The "pillow" gloves of boxing practice had been arrayed in an orderly manner on the top of the chiffonier.