"Yes, sir. Martin's livery, sir. I'll attend to everything, sir. Thank you, sir." He stood there in the blinding snow, watching his fare struggle to the sidewalk. Then he decided to follow along behind him until the "young gent" was safely within the doors of No. 511. He had driven Mr. Van Pycke before and he knew that it was not a dollar bill. Bosworth reached the steps leading up to the rather imposing doorway at No. 511. There was a heavy, stubborn iron gate at the foot, which he had some difficulty in opening because of the snow. While he was working with it, a man came plump up against him. Together they seized upon the gate and yanked with all their might and main. "Thanks," said Buzzy, when it was open. "Don't thank me," snapped the other. "I'm going in myself." They mounted the six or eight steps to the storm doors, side by side, enveloped in the snow that scuttled around the corner of the big Lackaday hotel next door. With a great stamping of boots they floundered into the shelter of the outer vestibule. The light in the hall beyond shone through the glass doors, illuminating the box-like coop in which they paused, each selfishly to occupy himself in catching his breath and at the same time shake the snow from his person. In the act of knocking the snow from the tops of their silk hats they glanced up simultaneously, each having arrived at the moment when it was convenient for him to inquire into the identity of his fellow visitor. They stared hard for a moment. "Hello, dad! Are you lost?" Mr. Van Pycke muttered something into the collar of his coat. Fortunately the wind outside was making such a noise that his son did not hear the remark. "Is that you, Bosworth?" he demanded querulously, almost on the instant. "Yes, sir,--your long lost son. I--I thought I let you out at Purdwell's?" Bosworth seemed a bit hazy. Mr. Van Pycke cleared his throat. "I didn't find any one at home." It did not occur to him to ask why Bosworth was there. "So I came up here, unexpectedly, mind you. I thought perhaps the weather being so dreadful, I'd be sure to find Mrs. Scoville at home. No one would think of going out on a night like this." "Do you suppose the Purdwells went out _without_ thinking?" asked Bosworth, innocently. "Ring the bell," said Mr. Van Pycke, very sharply. His son found the button with some difficulty, and gave it a violent and unintentionally prolonged push. In silence they awaited the response of the footman. "Is your mistress at home, Bellows?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, as the door was opened part way to allow the indignant inspection of one who had certainly expected beggars. Bellows, smileless and resourceful individual, seemed a bit uncertain, not to say upset. He glanced over his shoulder in a very far from imperious manner, apparently expecting the answer to come from the softly lighted hallway behind him. "I'll see, Mr. Van Pycke. Will you step inside?" "Get a broom, Bellows, and brush off some of this snow."