“That’s right. It’s a pretty fair room, Harmon. Better than lots of ’em, anyway. You might take your pick of the beds in there. It doesn’t matter to me which I have.” “Thanks.” Harmon gravely inspected the curtained alcove and decided on the left-hand bed. Perhaps the fact that Martin’s pajamas lay there had something to do with the decision. Martin blinked but stood the blow heroically and tried to forget that the right-hand bed had a weak spring. At that moment Harmon caught sight of his kit-bag on the floor and pointed at it in surprise. “Isn’t that mine?” he asked. “How did get here?” “Bob brought it up from the station a few minutes ago,” explained Martin. “You fellows must have been pretty certain of having your way!” marveled the owner of the bag. Joe nodded soberly. “We had to be,” he said grimly. “Once we had started, we had to go through with it, Harmon.” “But suppose I hadn’t given in! Suppose I’d gone to the principal here and told him that you fellows had kidnapped me and locked me up in a room?” Joe smiled gently. “No chance of that, old man. If you hadn’t decided to stay with us by midnight we’d have taken you back to the station and put you on the twelve-twenty train.” “Hm! And I--er--I wouldn’t have had anything to say?” “No.” Joe shook his head. “There’d have been three of us anyway; maybe four; and we’d have fixed you so you couldn’t talk much.” Harmon smiled. “Still, afterwards I could have talked. I could have come back, or written a letter and spilled the beans.” “Yes, you could have done that, but we argued that once away from here you’d get over your grouch and forget it. Besides, a chap doesn’t want to look foolish.” “That’s so,” agreed Harmon, and he repeated it more emphatically in the next breath. “It is uncomfortable, isn’t it?” The arrival of Bob Newhall made a response by Joe unnecessary, although the latter wondered just a little over Harmon’s expression and the inflection of his voice. Bob gave a shout of triumph and joy when he saw Harmon. “A brand from the burning!” he exclaimed. “This is great! I just knew you’d see reason, Harmon! Say, I’m tickled to death!” “Well, don’t upset the table,” warned Martin. “Let’s sit down, fellows. This has been sort of a strenuous day. Try the big chair, Harmon. By the way, as we’re going to see a good deal of each other we might as well get used to real names. Mine’s Martin, but I’m generally called Mart.” “But never Smart,” interpolated Bob. Harmon smiled at the pleasantry. “And I’m usually called Will and never Way,” he said. Martin looked puzzled. For that matter, so did the others. “You mean folks call you Will?” asked Martin, doubtfully. “Yes. Short for Willard.” “Oh! Willard’s your middle name. I see. Well--” “Hold on!” exclaimed Bob. “I thought your middle name was Edward!” “No, my middle name is Kane. Willard is my first name.” Harmon explained politely and smilingly. Joe’s jaw began to drop slowly.