“Anybody that lays over Colonel Carson like you did yesterday, son, can have my car when he wants it, see? No, don’t do any hollering. I won’t take no pay, except for gas and the chauffeur. Just expenses. You’ll have to get back by noon, though. I only got the one car, and it’s engaged for the afternoon.” Finding that the man was absolutely earnest in his refusal to take money, Chip assented. “We’ll be back as soon as we can reach Orton and turn around,” he said, getting into the car. “And I’m much obliged to you, sir!” “Pleasure’s all mine, son,” returned the other, with a grand air. CHAPTER XXI. WHERE IS MERRY? “Great morning, Chip!” Clancy was drowsily looking out of the window. His eyes had just opened, and he had not yet observed the absence of his chum. “Wake up and take a look at things, you lazy----” Clan turned over to give Merry a punch, then suddenly sat up. “Well, by Jupiter!” he gasped. He noticed for the first time that his chum’s clothes had disappeared, as well as Chip himself. Then he turned toward the window, hearing a church bell ringing sweetly across the valley, and noticed the maturity of the morning. “Jumping whippoorwills! I must have overslept a whole lot----” At that moment there came a sudden, furious knocking on the door. Clancy paused, half out of bed, and poised a pillow to fling as the door opened. “Come in!” he yelled. “I’m not deaf. Come in, you imitation of a real man! You don’t fool me, Chip Merriwell----Wow! Get out o’ here!” Clancy had thought that it was his chum, but as the door opened wide his voice shot up to a shrill yell. For there, looking in with rolling eyes, was one of the two negresses who acted as waitresses and bell boys at the hotel. “Get out o’ here!” shrilled Clan, pulling the bedclothes around him. “Can’t you hear? Shut that door! What d’you think I am, a moving-picture show?” The door shut. From the outside came the voice of the startled negress: “Ah thought yo’ said to come in, suh. Ah suttinly did!” “I was wrong,” retorted Clancy, grinning in spite of himself. “I meant to say go climb up the flagpole and kill flies. What do you want?” “Why, suh, dar’s a gem’man downsta’rs askin’ foh yo’ an Mistuh Merriwell.” “What’s his name, and what time is it?” “It’s dat ar McQuade boy. It’s ten o’clock, suh.” “Send him up,” and Clancy leaped for his clothes. “Great Scott! Ten o’clock! Say, there must be something in this Carsonville air! I haven’t slept as late as this for a month of Sundays.” He tore open his suit case, and went into dressing with such furious energy that the room was filled with baseball uniforms and sections of underwear and clean shirts when Billy flung open the door. “What’s goin’ on here?” demanded the astonished Billy Mac. “Me, mostly,” said Clancy. “Where’s Chip?” “How do I know? Say, are you just getting up?” “No!” roared Clancy, half into a clean shirt. “I’m sitting on Brooklyn Bridge making mince pie, you bonehead!”