On no occasion, however, did Chester fail to impress on his friends and companions the fact that his father was one of the richest men in the country. Chester’s little speech brought forth a storm of applause, and the boys pressed around him to shake his hand as he stepped down from the carriage. Mrs. Arlington had seen June looking in the direction of two lads who stood beyond the crowd. She adjusted her spectacles and looked in the same direction. “Is that young Merriwell?” she asked. “Yes, mother,” answered June. “You said you were going to thank him for what he did.” Chester Arlington’s mother heaved a sigh of mingled regret and resignation. Her haughty face seemed to say that it was an unpleasant duty she had to perform, but that she would try to go through it bravely and with the dignity becoming a woman of her station in life. She leaned over the side of the carriage and touched her son’s shoulder with her gloved hand. “My dear boy,” she said, “I—er—ah—I perceive that—er—that young man, Merriwell, yonder. Will you have one of your friends invite him to step over here to the carriage?” Two or three of the plebes heard her and hurried toward Dick at once. “Be careful, mother,” warned Chester, in a low tone. “He mustn’t think he has done too much.” “Trust me, my son,” she said, and her face hardened somewhat as she saw Dick Merriwell advancing toward the carriage. The plebes made room for Dick to pass. He removed his cap and bowed with grace and politeness to both Mrs. Arlington and June. June spoke, giving him a smile. Mrs. Arlington seemed to hesitate a moment, and then she began, with that same haughty, chilling air that was offensive, to say the very least: “I feel it my duty, Mr. Merriwell, to thank you for your action in assisting my son to escape from the burning hotel. Without doubt Chester would have been able to descend the ladder alone, but the fact that you rendered him some aid makes it necessary to thank you.” Her words were like a slap in the face. Dick saw June turn pale, and he knew she had not anticipated this graceless act from her mother. Now, Dick Merriwell was not always cool and restrained, but on this occasion he was master of himself, even though he felt that the thanks he had received were as much an insult as anything else. He bowed again. “If I rendered Mr. Arlington any assistance,” he said, “I am glad I was able to do so, for the sake of”—he looked at June—“those who are attached to him.” Chester Arlington saw that glance, and it enraged him. He knew Merriwell had not helped him from the hotel because of a feeling of regard or liking for him, and he believed Dick did it purely for the purpose of playing the hero before June.