Half a minute dragged along--yet before it was gone one saw clearly that the mental processes had taken their grip. An extremely visible change was coming over David Prentiss. He gulped down certain emotions of his own, and presently managed to smile, uneasily at first and then with a certain confidence. He cleared his throat and, with a slight huskiness, addressed Anthony: "Er--do I understand that you want me to stay here until I fully appreciate all you've offered me, Mr. Fry?" "Virtually that." "Well, I appreciated that all along; but--but I was sort of worried about it getting so late, you know," David said brightly. "I certainly do appreciate it, and I thank you very much. Now can I have my coat?" "Really decided to grip the opportunity, eh?" Anthony asked keenly. "You bet!" Johnson Boller laid aside his paper. "Now chase him, Anthony!" he said. "He's standing up and holding the sugar on his nose. Slip the kid a five-dollar bill and let Wilkins----" "Do you really imagine that I'd rouse all the boy's hopes and then play him a shabby trick like that?" Anthony asked sharply. "Huh?" "Most emphatically not!" Mr. Fry said. "I'll play no such shabby trick on the youngster. He shall have exactly the chance I promised, and I shall watch the working out of the idea with the most intense interest. David, I'm going to keep you here from this minute!" "Keep me here?" David echoed blankly. "Certainly." David gazed fixedly at the electrolier. "Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Fry," he said. "I'd like to stay to-night, but I can't--not to-night. You see, I have to go home to my father. He's an--an invalid." "We'll telephone the good news to him," Anthony smiled. "You can't," said David. "We're too poor to have a telephone." "Very well. Then we'll wire him." David shook his head energetically. "That wouldn't do, either," said he. "Father's sick, you know. His heart's very weak. Just the sight of a telegram might kill him." "Unfortunate!" Anthony sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, David. Then you shall write him a note, and I'll have Wilkins take it to him." David swallowed audibly and smiled a wild little smile. "Oh, no! Not that, sir!" said he. "That might be even worse than a telegram, I think." "Why?" "Well, father would be likely to think that I'd been--been injured and taken into some swell home, you know, and that I was writing like that just to reassure him. No," David said firmly, "that would be the worst possible thing. I'll have to go myself and talk it over with father and--now if I can have my cap and my coat?" It came as a familiar refrain. It caused Anthony's eye to darken suddenly as he sat back and stared at the boy. "Confound your hat and coat!" he rapped out. "See here, David. You write the note, and I myself will take it to your father and explain--and be sure that he will rejoice. There is the desk. Where do you live?"