"Oh, yes, he's there, believe me. Keep it under your hat, but that old souse has got it all fixed that the boy is the grandson of that Herbert Loring who has just died, and that he's going to get a slice o' the money. Now you might as well know, Phil, as long as you're doing the errand, that Gayne's a skunk. He's counting on shutting that boy up and gettin' the money himself. He told me so one time when he was half-seas over. Believe me, I feel sorry for that kid. If he ever had any spirit, he's had it squeezed out of him. By George, I'd like to have those ladies know Gayne's plans." "They certainly must be greatly interested in the boy to take all this trouble," said Philip. "I knew they were very much stirred up over Gayne's treatment of Bert, but I don't know whether they're aware of how far he intends to carry it. I'm glad you've told me this. I fancy we shall find that their plan is to give the boy a show or two and some ice-cream instead of a fortune. Bert Gayne, Herbert Loring's heir!" scoffed Philip. "Don't make me laugh. My lip's cracked. However, I'll oblige those two corking women and bring him to them, by the scruff of the neck, if necessary. Ever see the Copley-Plaza, Matt? If you did, you can make a picture of me making a grand entrance there with Bert." "I do feel sorry for that kid," repeated Blake with feeling. "So do I, and after what you say, I'm wondering why Gayne is keeping himself in the background and letting the goddess Diana take charge." "I wish her luck," said Matt emphatically. "I wish her luck." Arrived where the road branches away to the Inn, Philip and his friend left the wagon and struck off through the field. Halfway across they met Miss Emerson, walking triumphantly between Mr. Pratt and Mr. Evans, a parasol over her shoulder. It is not well to sun soft ripples of hair, when the head that grew them is far across the seas. "Good-morning," she cried gayly; "we're going to the post-office. Can we do anything for you?" "Thank you," said Barney. "We've just come from there. You might write me a letter or two, Miss Emerson, while you're waiting. I've been neglected since I've been here." "I shall be delighted," she returned, regarding his tanned face and permanent wave with high approval. "I love to write. I even like pencil and paper games, verbarium, and crambo, and all those. I've been trying to convert these men. I wish you would both come up and spend the evening and let me show you how much fun it is." There was a wild look in the grave faces of her escorts which advised caution. "You're always so kind, Miss Emerson," said Kelly. "Shall we see you at dinner?" she asked. "Depends on how good your eyes are," said Philip pleasantly. "We dine at home and then I'm off for Boston." "Really? How can you bear to leave here!" Miss Emerson waved her parasol as the young men nodded and passed on.