After a while Mrs. Guild appeared again, and they went into the drawing-room and sat silent and happy in the firelight while she played for them. She apologized for knowing no college songs, but Pete gallantly assured her that he preferred “straight music.” Still later there was a four-handed game of billiards in an upper hall, in which Mrs. Guild and Allan were badly defeated by the host and Pete. Then came the visit to the pink-hung nursery and the formal introductions to Master Thomas Guild, Junior. And by that time it was after eight o’clock, and a surrey stood at the door, waiting to bear them back to Centerport. “You must come out some afternoon,” said their host, “and let me show you around. Both Mrs. Guild and I have enjoyed your visit, and we want you again. We don’t have so many callers but what a couple more will be welcome at any time. And when you come, it must be to stay to dinner with us.” And Allan and Pete readily agreed, and kept to their agreement. They each voted Mr. Guild a fine fellow, and each lost his heart to the hostess. The dollar was duly paid, and they received a receipt “in full for two ducks. Trusting to receive a continuance of your patronage, I remain, Yours faithfully, Thomas A. Guild.” There was another visit to Hillcrest the following week, and several more before the occurrence of the incident which, for a time at least, put thoughts of visiting out of mind. On the Monday after Thanksgiving and the duck-hunt, the story of which was now college property, Pete stamped into Allan’s room just before dinner, kicked the snow from his shoes against the chimney, tossed his sombrero onto the desk, and subsided into the armchair with a mighty sigh of triumph. “_That’s_ all right,” he announced, heartily but vaguely. “What?” asked Allan, momentarily abandoning his struggle with Herodotus. “Club table. I’ve got my eighth man.” “Not really? Who have you got?” “Well, there’s”--he took a list from his pocket--“there’s you, and Hal, and Wolcott, Poor----” “Pete, you’re lying!” “--and Cooper, Van Sciver, Maitland, and your Uncle Pete.” “But--but how’d you do it, Pete? How’d you get them to join? Offer to pay half their board, or--or what?”