“Has Jane persuaded you to stay?” he asked, after a slight hesitation. “Not for the reason you may have in mind, old chap,” replied Baxter, laying his hand on the young doctor’s shoulder. “The Sages think I ought not to leave my father.” He spoke in lowered tones, for Lansing’s ear alone. “I quite agree with them,” said the other stiffly. “Jane has been talking to me about it. She said she intended asking you to change your plans.” “Mr. Sage opened my eyes to one or two things I haven’t been able to see till now,” said Oliver simply. “My place is here in Rumley, Lansing. For a year or two, at any rate.” They joined the group at the darkened end of the veranda. Sammy and his bride—a fluffy little giggler—were there; Miss Johnson, the girl from Indianapolis, and two other young men. “No, thanks, Doctor; I won’t sit down,” said Baxter. “Just ran in to see if Sammy was behaving himself. And to tell you all that you will probably have me on your hands for a while longer.” “Good boy,” cried Sammy. “Lovely—perfectly lovely,” shrieked the bride. “If you had told me this morning, Mr. Baxter,” said Miss Johnson coyly, “I shouldn’t have telegraphed mother I’d be home day after to-morrow.” “Have a highball, Baxter?” asked Lansing suddenly. “Not to-night, thanks. I’ve got to be running along. Father may be waiting up for me. Night, everybody.” And he was off. The group watched him stride swiftly down the cement walk. Sammy was the first to speak. “Well, I call that sociability, don’t you? What the dickens is the matter with him? First time I’ve ever seen Ollie Baxter with a grouch. A grouch, that’s what it was.” “I don’t think it was very nice of him to come up here with a grouch,” complained the bride. “I guess the crowd was too thick for him,” said one of the young men solemnly, and then winked at the girl from Indianapolis. “He’s got something on his mind,” announced young Lansing, professionally. “The old man, I guess,” said Sammy. “If my father behaved like old man Baxter does, I’d take him across my knee and spank him.” * * * * * Early the next morning, Serepta Grimes called Joseph Sikes on the telephone. “Did Oliver Baxter stay all night with you?” she inquired. “I mean old Oliver.” “No.” “Have you seen anything of him this morning?” “No. What’s the matter, Serepty?” “Well, he didn’t sleep here last night, and there ain’t a sign of him around the place. I—I guess maybe you’d better come up, Joe.” * * * * * Old Oliver was gone. “Off his base,” groaned Mr. Sikes, fifteen minutes after Serepta’s agitated call. He and Silas Link had hurried up to the Baxter home, where they found Mrs. Grimes waiting for them on the front porch. “I knew it would come. Off his base completely.” “Wandered off somewheres,” groaned Mr. Link, very pale and shaky. “Maybe down into the swamp. My God!”