Horace was called into the private office and speedily propitiated. “I was more anxious than I could tell you at the time,” his father said; “the fact is, I concealed half the fellow’s letter on account of Lettice. But it’s a man’s matter, and you ought to know.” Of course the letter had stated that the erratic patient had failed to keep his appointment on the morning of writing; but if it had drawn the line of information there, it is highly improbable that Mr. Upton would have exercised so wise a discretion at table and in his wife’s room. It now appeared that as a busy professional man the outspoken Bompas had gone far out of his way to play Mahomet to his patient’s mountain. Tony had told him where he hoped to stay in London, which Bompas particularly wished to know on account of some special prescription the boy was to try that night. On his failure to appear at the appointed time, the doctor had telephoned to the address in question, only to learn that the boy had not stayed there at all. He had been given another address with the same result, except that from the second house he gathered that the young gentleman had gone on to some hotel. Horace was left to imagine a professional opinion of such proceedings, and asked for his own on the facts as a man of the world. “Exactly like young Tony!” quoth Horace, never afraid to say what he thought. “What! Like a lad of sixteen to go and put up at some hotel?” “Like Tony,” repeated Horace significantly. “Trust him to do what nobody else ever did.” “But how could Spearman give him the chance?” “Heaven knows! Fred and I never got it.” “I thought he was to stay at Coverley’s?” “So I heard.” “I don’t like it! It’s all wrong at his age,” said Mr. Upton. He had his notions of life and its temptations, and he was blunt enough with his elder sons, yet it was not without some hesitation that he added: “You don’t think there’s any question of bad company, do you?” And though Horace had “no use for” his so-called pocket edition, he answered without any hesitation at all: “Not for a moment, from what I know of Tony.” Mr. Upton was sorry he had said so much. He excused himself by mentioning his wife’s dream, now family property, which had been on his mind all this time. Horace, however, had no hesitation in informing him that nobody nowadays believed in dreams. “Well, I never have, certainly,” said Mr. Upton. “But what can it be?” “He probably went up to Lord’s, and forgot all about his doctor.” “I hope not! You’re too down on him, Horace.” “If there was nobody to put him up it was the game to go back to school.” “But he’s said to have gone to some hotel.” “I don’t suppose he did,” said Horace. “I expect he got back somehow.” The question was still under discussion when a telegram from Mr. Spearman settled it. Where was Tony? He had not returned when due the day before, and his friends in London wired that they knew nothing about him.