As he emerged from the railroad station on the day of his return, he espied a Ford touring car starting off. He had not his trusty rubber ball with him so he was forced to make the usual direct request. Perhaps his rather cumbersome suitcase won him favor from the somewhat hard looking young man who drove the car. This young man did not look like the sort who think too seriously about good turns. He was poorly dressed and wore a cap at that villainous angle affected only by young men of the strong-arm persuasion. He had also (what seemed to harmonize with his cap) a livid scar on his cheek, and he sat in that sophisticated sideways posture at the wheel which suggested the taxi chauffeur. “You going up Main Street?” Hervey queried, as he took his seat beside the stranger. “I’m going as far as Hart Street.” “I got yer,” said the young man accommodatingly. “Yer one er dem boy scouts?” “Scout in looks only,” said Hervey laconically, alluding to his khaki attire. “Youse guys is a lot of false alarms,” said the driver. “What can yez do?” “Give me a dare,” said Hervey. “Sure, I’ll give yer a dare.” “Just give me one and I’ll show you,” said Hervey. His rather bizarre challenge caused the stranger, whose remarks had been altogether casual, to glance sideways at him rather curiously. “You just give me a dare, that’s all,” said Hervey complacently. It seemed as if the young man’s mood of banter had changed to one of inquiring interest. His criticism had been surly, but not serious; now suddenly, he flattered Hervey by a kind of lowering inspection. “Sure, I’ll give yer one,” said he; “only yer mother don’t leave yer out nights.” “Oh, don’t she,” Hervey sneered. “You just give me a dare--you just give me one. I refused to take dares from people that wouldn’t even ride in a Ford, I did.” Still the young fellow scrutinized him. “Yare?” he queried cynically. “Sure I did; I called a bluff from a cowboy and I chucked his dare in his face.” “Get out.” “You just give me one and see,” said Hervey. “Well, if yer mother will leave yer out,” said the young man, “you meet me in the parking space in back of the post office at ten o’clock to-night and I’ll give yer a dare all right; I’ll give yer a good one. I’ll show yer you’re a flat tire.” “You call me a flat tire?” “Sure, you’re a blowout--all noise and no action.” This was too much for Hervey. He forgot that this was the evening of his welcome home. He forgot that he had ever been to Temple Camp or that this tough young stranger meant nothing to him. He never approached toward acquaintanceship by the usual slow process. And his sense of discrimination was conspicuous by its absence. “I’ll be there all right, you leave it to me,” he said. “Ten bells,” said the tough young fellow. “You leave it to me,” said Hervey. CHAPTER VI THE INSPIRED DARE