He mumbled a rather unnecessary excuse to Humphrey, and slipped out, catching up with her on the avenue. She was unpleasantly attractive. She excited him. 'What is it?' he asked, walking with her. 'Did you want to speak to me?' 'Stuck up, aren't we!' 'Well?' She pouted. 'Take a little walk with me. I do want to talk with you.' 'Haven't time. Got to get right back to the office.' 'Well--listen, meet me to-night. I can get out by eight. It's pretty important. Maybe serious.' 'Is it---did anybody----' She nodded. 'Mrs MacPherson. She was right in her door when I came out of your room.' 'Did she say anything?' 'She looked a lot.' 'Well, say--I'll see you for a few minutes to-night. Say about eight.' This was best. It would be dark, or near it. He simply mustn't be seen strolling with Mamie Wilcox along Filbert Avenue in broad daylight. 'What do you say to Douglass Street and the Lake Shore Drive?' 'All right. Tell you what--bring a tandem along and take me for a ride.' 'Oh, I can't.' But his will was weak. 'Got to report a concert. I don't know, though. I s'pose I could get around at half-past nine' or ten and hear the last numbers.' He had often done this. Besides, he could probably manage it earlier. He knew he could rent a tandem at Murphy's cigar store down by the tracks. A quite wild, wholly fascinating stir of adventure was warming his breast and bringing that huskiness into his voice. He was letting go. He felt daring and a little mad. He hadn't realised, before to-day, that Mamie had such a lure about her. Before returning to the office he got his bank-book and brazenly drew from the bank, savings department, his entire account, amounting to ten dollars forty-six cents. He also bespoke the tandem. These were the great days of bicycling. The first highwheeled, rattling horseless carriage was not to appear in the streets of Sunbury for a year or two yet. Bicycle clubs flourished. Memorial Day each year (they called it Decoration Day) was a mad rush of excursion and road races. Every Sunday witnessed a haggard-eyed humpbacked horde of 'Scorchers' in knickerbockers or woollen tights. Many of the young men one met on train and street wore medals with a suspended chain of gold bars, one for each 'century run.'