“I’m sorry I put you to so much trouble,” he said stiffly. “If I’d known, I might have got hold of the money somewhere else, I suppose.” “You haven’t put me to any trouble, Bert, and I don’t understand why my mother hasn’t answered. The only explanation I can think of is that she has sort of dodged those telegrams, if you know what I mean. She might have left New York before the one I sent there was delivered and gone back to Shorefields. Then she may have gone to Philadelphia Sunday――――” “I should think she’d stay in one place a minute,” Bert complained. “Of course, if Fallow doesn’t come nosing around here before――――” “I say, I might send a message to Bowles, eh? Tell him to wire mother’s present address. I’ll do it at noon if we don’t hear before that. But it certainly does seem as if mother must have got one of my telegrams by this time!” Bert couldn’t suggest anything better to do, and they went across to School Hall for English 4. It was a full morning for them both and neither had time to think a great deal about that telegram until they were through with Greek at twelve. Then Hugh again called up the telegraph office, received the same answer to his inquiry, and forthwith dispatched a message to Bowles at Shorefields, demanding an instant answer. “That ought to be delivered by two o’clock,” said Hugh, “and if he answers right away we should hear by four.” “That’s all right as long as Fallow doesn’t take it into his head to come over here and raise a row today. I promised I’d settle up with him yesterday, you see. Maybe he will give me another day or two, though. He would, don’t you think?” “I’d say he should let you know before he went to faculty about it,” said Hugh. “If he sits tight until tomorrow I dare say we’ll have the coin for him.” “That’s what we thought Saturday,” responded Bert morosely. “Well, we can’t do anything now but wait and see what happens, I guess. I’m going to dinner.” Hugh had a conference with Mr. Rumford at two-thirty and when he got back to Lothrop it was nearly half-past three and Bert had gone down to the field. Hugh dumped his books, paused to scribble a memorandum, and then, changing coat and waistcoat for a sweater, started for the door. Simultaneously there was a knock on the half-opened portal and Hugh swung it open, revealing on the threshold a very stout man with very red cheeks and a very luxuriant mustache. That mustache so fascinated Hugh for a moment that he merely stood there and gazed. It was extremely black and it stuck out two or three inches on each side of a big, round face. Hugh wondered if it was real. Then the visitor spoke and Hugh realized that he had been rudely staring for several seconds. “Mr. Winslow live here?” asked the caller in a voice that seemed to come from well down toward the lower button of the black-and-white plaid waistcoat.