Wayne’s letter of introduction to Mr. Stephen Milburn bore the address of the Congress House, and inquiry elicited the information that the Congress House was far uptown and many blocks away from their lodgings. For fear that the club manager might get away before he could reach him, Wayne ate a hurried and sketchy breakfast at seven, entrusted Sam to June’s care, and hurried off on foot at about the time the retail section of the city through which his route lay was beginning to wake up. The distance was long and Wayne was horribly afraid that Mr. Milburn would have had his breakfast and be off and about the business of managing before he got to the hotel. Consequently, he was somewhat surprised when, on inquiring for the manager, he was told that Mr. Milburn never saw anyone until after breakfast. “After breakfast!” repeated Wayne blankly. “Well, what time is that, please?” The clerk at the desk looked speculatingly at the clock and yawned behind his hand. “He usually comes down about nine,” was the reply. “Come back at half-past and you’ll probably find him.” Wayne withdrew, wondering how Mr. Milburn ever found time to do anything after getting up at nine o’clock! For a while he occupied one of the extremely comfortable chairs in the hotel lobby and perused a newspaper that someone had discarded there, but the street outside was by this time humming and bustling, the morning was still cool and the temptation to see more of Harrisville was too strong for him. So he went out and joined the stream on the sidewalk and loitered along, looking into fascinating windows and missing little that went on. At a quarter to nine he was some distance from the hotel and so he turned back. But when he had walked as many squares as seemed necessary to bring him to his destination he failed to discover it. It dawned on him then that he had been walking at right angles to the street on which the hotel was situated, and he turned back and hurried along the way he had come. In the end he had to ask his way of a newsboy. Whether that young rascal purposely gave him the wrong direction or whether Wayne misunderstood him, the result was the same. He reached the Congress House at just twenty-five minutes to ten by the big round clock in the lobby and was met with the information that Mr. Milburn had breakfasted a little earlier than usual and had just gone out. The clerk, still yawning delicately, could not even hazard a guess as to the manager’s present whereabouts, and Wayne was turning disappointedly away from the desk when a bell boy came to his assistance. “Say, Mister, you can find Mr. Milburn at the ball park after half-past ten,” he said. “They practises then every day.” “Oh, thanks,” answered Wayne. “Which way is the park from here, please?” “Out Tioga Avenue. Take any blue car going north. The conductor’ll tell you where to get off. But you’ll see it yourself if you watch for it.” “Is it much of a walk?” Wayne asked.