“You hit the nail on the head, Micky,” he admitted. “Danbazzar has come across with a proposal about which I have promised to say nothing. It’s a very queer business--more than queer, in fact; but to-night I shall know more about it. Dad has invited him to join us at the University Club with Dr. Rittenburg of the Smithsonian, Horace Pain, the big Oriental man, and Dad’s old friend, Dr. Blackwell of Yale.” “What a wild party!” Jim commented. “I suppose you are going on to the Earl Carroll Vanities after dinner?” “On the contrary,” Barry assured him, “we are going on to Danbazzar’s place.” “You can’t delude me,” cried Jim scornfully. “I see Dr. Rittenburg and Professor Blackwell dancing far into the small hours of the morning in some small but costly cabaret. I can see you all, haggard-eyed, flushed with wine, a really shocking Six, taking breakfast at Child’s on Fifth Avenue as the morning sun peeps in upon the end of your debauch. Barry, I’m sorry, but you are making the pace too fast.” The dinner turned out more successful, however, than Jim had predicted. Barry’s father had never before so taken him into his confidence in regard to this hobby of his life, and under different circumstances he would certainly have come prepared to be bored. As it chanced, the company proved to be so amusing that he was amazed to find how quickly the time passed. Horace Pain, the celebrated Orientalist, was all that he had expected of him; a dry, slow-spoken scholar, whose only enthusiasm was for his subject. But Dr. Rittenburg proved to be a comedian who would have rejoiced Jim’s heart. He was a round little man--a study in curves. His red face was round, his bald head was round, and he wore very round glasses. He and Professor Blackwell succeeded in keeping the party in a state of continuous laughter; for Professor Blackwell, tall, gaunt, and saturnine, had a fund of wit, as Barry knew, which seemed to be inexhaustible. Danbazzar, too, was a delightful companion. There seemed to be few spots in the world, civilized or uncivilized, that he had not visited, from the headwaters of the Amazon to the monasteries of Thibet. The real purpose of the meeting was not touched upon, however, until the party had adjourned to the library of the club. Here, as they took their seats in an alcove, Barry observed Jim. Faithful to his promise, he had “crashed in.” With an exaggerated air of secrecy, based upon the Charlie Chaplin tradition, he crept around the gallery above, turning his back swiftly whenever one of the party looked up, and apparently searching for some book which he always failed to find. Crouching low behind the rails, so that only the top of his head and his eyes were visible, he peered down intently. This amazing piece of pantomime was only interrupted by the decision of the party to adjourn serious discussion to Danbazzar’s apartment.