On the street he swung off with a free, vigorous stride, his heart beating high. He had won; he was sure of it. The knowledge of her interest in the man, which he had feared might develop into something deeper, had led him to realize the full extent of his own regard for her. She was a poor clergyman’s daughter, and he was the son of Cyrus King, but the little god had winged his arrow straight, and the wound was deliciously deep. Twenty minutes after King left, Janet, having donned hat and wrap, came out and walked swiftly down the street. Her face was chill and sad; she was deserted by hope; yet she would see Henry Cope. Behind his counter, the grocer peered at her over his glasses. “Mornin’, Janet,” he said cheerfully. “’Nother ruther nice day.” “Mr. Cope, I’d like to speak with you a moment privately.” Surprised, he took note of her pallor and the girl’s troubled look. Her voice had an unusual sound. Pushing up his spectacles, he came from behind the counter. “Step inter my office,” he invited. In the office he urged her to sit down, saying she looked tired; but she preferred to stand. “I’ll bother you only a minute,” she said. “No bother at all――no bother. What can I do? Anything the matter?” “I have come to ask you, confidentially, about――about the man who is called Tom Locke.” She half turned her head away. “Eh? Oh, him? What you want t’ know?” “Mr. Cope, I want you to tell me the truth. You need not fear that I will repeat anything you say. You have always been my friend, and now, as such, I ask you to answer my question. I hope you’ll not refuse or put me off.” “You bet I’ve alwus been your friend, little girl,” he returned earnestly. “What’s the question?” “You engaged Mr. Locke for the baseball team, and you know who he is. They are saying he is a Princeton College man by the name of Hazelton. Tell me, Mr. Cope, if that is true.” “Now, what makes the difference who he is?” spluttered the grocer, frowning. “I’m bein’ pestered to death about him.” “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pester you. I gave you my word I would not repeat anything you told me, but if you will not answer my question――” “Hold on, Janet; I ain’t said I wouldn’t answer it. I know you won’t tell if you say ye won’t, and, anyhow, it’s beginnin’ to look like he’d have to sail under his own colors before long. Yes, Miss Janet, he’s Paul Hazelton. I agreed t’ keep mum ’bout it so’s he wouldn’t git inter a mess ’bout pitchin’ for his college; but what’s the use, with Mike Riley raisin’ high jinks an’ claimin’ he’s got a holt on the boy, and even settin’ the newspapers to buzzin’? I’m ruther sorry for Hazelton, but I s’pose he knew he was takin’ a chance when he come here.” “That’s all,” said the girl; “thank you. Now, I hope you’ll not tell anybody that I came to you to inquire about him?” “Not a peep, little girl. He’s a mighty nice feller, I’ll say that fer him. Don’t seem to have no bad habits, an’ goes t’ church, an’――”