“Not an hour ago,” she said. “No; I don’t know where he’s gone. Likely the expressman could tell you. His name’s Donovan and he has a stand on the corner there beyond. All I know is the gentleman took my room until college ended and now he’s gone and thrown it up.” She closed the door behind them with angry violence. “I can’t honestly blame him,” said Kingsford dryly. “The smell is enough to make one throw up anything, even a room.” The expressman was absent, and inquiries at the corner grocery failed to enlighten them as to his whereabouts or as to the time of his return. “We’ll have to give up for to-day, I guess,” John said. “You might ask around, Kingsford. Surely, somebody must know where he is!” But what search failed to find, accident revealed. Phillip could not hope to avoid John forever. He knew that sometime they must meet, and, incensed as he was by what he termed the other’s treachery, he dreaded the meeting. It took place that Monday evening. In honour of his installation in the new quarters, Chester had persuaded Phillip to take dinner with him at his boarding-house. As it happened, John, at the invitation of a friend, had also been a guest at the same place. When John came downstairs after dinner he literally ran into Phillip and Chester at the front door. Phillip did not see John until the latter had seized him by the arm and swung him around. “Well, Phil! You’re really alive?” Phillip moved away from the other’s grasp coldly and pretended not to see the outstretched hand. John stared in perplexity. Then he stepped forward and again laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Phil, what does this mean?” he asked sternly. The little group of men about the door watched curiously. Phillip found his calmness deserting him. The blood seethed into his cheeks and his eyes blazed. He tore his arm from John’s hand and swept it around in something between a blow and a shove that sent the other reeling against the newel post. “Take your hands off me, North!” he cried angrily, shrilly. Chester sprang between and pushed Phillip toward the door. John grew very white. His perplexity remained, but was swallowed up in a sudden flood of intense anger at the indignity put upon him. He strode forward, his eyes darkening, his hands clenched at his side. He had no thought of returning Phillip’s blow, if blow it was; he wanted to take the other by the collar and shake him until his teeth rattled. He found himself confronted by Chester Baker, white and determined. “You be careful, North!” he said defiantly. Phillip strove to push by him. “This is my affair, Chester,” he cried. But John paused and contemptuously thrust his hands into his pockets. “I beg your pardon,” he said coldly. “I mistook you for a friend.” “It was the biggest mistake you could have made,” replied Phillip, his voice a-tremble. Then Chester pushed him before him out the door.