The old man took from the table drawer a long leather case, drew out another pair of spectacles which he exchanged for the ones he was already wearing, and after scrutinizing the buckle and scowling at it for an interval he carried it to the window. "What's the matter?" Bob demanded, instantly alert. "Isn't the repairing properly done?" "'Tain't the repairin' I'm lookin' at," Willie returned slowly. "I've no quarrel with that." Still he continued to twist and turn the disc of silver, now holding it at arm's length, now bringing it close to his eye with a puzzled intentness. Robert Morton could stand the suspense no longer. "What's wrong with it?" he at last burst out. Willie did not look up but evidently he caught the note of impatience in the younger man's tone, for he drawled quizzically: "Don't it strike you as a mite peculiar that a buckle should go to Boston with D. L. H. on it an' come home marked C. L. G.?" "_What_!" "That's what's on it--C. L. G. See for yourself." "It can't be." "Come an' have a look." The inventor placed the trinket in Robert Morton's hand. "C. L. G.," repeated he, as he deciphered the intertwined letters of the monogram. "You are right, sure as fate! Jove!" "They've sent you the wrong girl," remarked Willie. "It's clear as a bell on a still night. There must have been two girls an' two buckles, an' the jeweler's mixed 'em up; you've got the other lady's." "That's a nice mess!" Bob ejaculated irritably. "Why, I'd rather have given a hundred dollars than have this happen. I'll wring that man's neck!" "Easy, youngster! Easy!" cautioned Willie. "Don't go heavin' all your cargo overboard 'till you find you're really sinkin'. 'Tain't likely Miss C. L. G. will care a row of pins for Miss D. L. H.'s buckle. She'll be sendin' out an S. O. S. for her own an' will be ready to join you in flayin' the jeweler. Give the poor varmint time, an' he'll shift things round all right." "But Miss Hathaway--" "Delight's lived the best part of two weeks without that buckle, an' she don't look none the worse for not havin' it. I saw her in the post-office only yesterday an'--" "Did you?" cried Bob eagerly, then stopped short, flushed, and bit his lip. "Yes, she was there," Willie returned serenely, without appearing to have noticed his guest's agitation. "Young Farwell from Cambridge--the one that has all the money--was talkin' to her, an' she had that Harvard professor who boards at the Brewsters' along too; Carlton his name is, Jasper Carlton. He's a mighty good-lookin' chap." He stole a glance at the face that glowered out of the window. "Had you chose to stroll down to the store with me like I asked you to, you might 'a' seen her yourself." "Oh, I--I--didn't need to see her," stammered Bob.