“Perhaps now for half a dollar—” began the commodore, more insinuatingly. Then he groaned: “Too late!” The policeman had lifted the ban. The stately car turned into the avenue and was swallowed up amid a myriad of more or less imposing vehicles. They had, however, received a bow from the occupant. That was all there had been opportunity for. Incidentally, the small boy had bestowed upon them his parting compliments: “Smart old guy! You think youse—” The rest was jumbled up or lost in the usual cacophony of the thoroughfare. “Too bad!” murmured the commodore. “But still these three weeks are young.” “‘Three weeks!’” observed Dickie. “Sounds like plagiarism!” “Oh, Bob won’t have that kind of a ‘three weeks,’” snickered Clarence. “Bob’s will be an expurgated edition,” from the commodore, recovering his spirits. “Maybe we ought to make it four?” “Three will do,” said Bob, who wasn’t enjoying this chaffing. Every one they approached he now eyed apprehensively. But he was a joy-giver, if not receiver, for his tall handsome figure attracted many admiring glances. His striking head with its blond curls—they weren’t exactly curls, only his hair wasn’t straight, but clung rather wavy-like to the bold contour of his head—his careless stride, and that general effect of young masculinity—all this caused sundry humble feminine hearts to go pit-a-pat. Bob’s progress, however, was generally followed by pit-a-pats from shop-girls and bonnet-bearers. Especially at the noon hour! Then Bob seemed to these humble toilers, like dessert, after hard-boiled eggs, stale sandwiches and pickles. But Bob was quite unaware of any approving glances cast after him. He was thinking, and thinking hard. He wasn’t so sanguine now as he had been when he had left the club. What might have happened at that street corner appealed to him with sudden poignant force. Mrs. Ralston was of the _creme de la creme_. She was determined to stay young. She pretended to be thirty years or so younger than she was. In fact, she was rather a ridiculous old lady who found it hard to conceal her age. Now what if the commodore had found opportunity to ask that awful question? Bob could have made only one reply and told the truth. The largeness of his contract was becoming more apparent to him. He began to see himself now from Dan’s standpoint. Incidentally, he was beginning to develop a great dislike for that genial land-mariner. “How about the Waldorf?” They had paused at the corner of Thirty-fourth Street. “May find some one there,” suggested Clarence. “In Peek-a-Boo Alley?” scornfully from Dickie. “Oh, I heard there was a concert, or something upstairs,” said Clarence. “In that you’ve-got-to-be-introduced room! And some of the real people have to walk through to get to it.”