“Then,” said Miss Wakeham, “a little before seven o'clock the car will be waiting at your office door.” “Hooray!” cried Larry. “You are an angel. I will be through.” At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pavement, which was still radiating heat, and so absorbed in watching for the Wakehams' big car that he failed to notice a little Mercer approaching till it drew up at his side. “What, you, Miss Rowena?” he cried. “Your own self? How very lovely of you, and through all this heat!” “Me,” replied the girl, “only me. I thought it might still be hot and a little cool breeze would be acceptable. But jump in.” “Cool breeze, I should say so!” exclaimed Larry. “A lovely, cool, sweet spring breeze over crocuses and violets! But, I say, I must go to my room for my clothes.” “No evening clothes to-night,” exclaimed Rowena. “Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have been hoping to display at Birchwood. These old things would hardly do at your dinner table.” “We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you know, I left my party to come for you, partly because I was rather nasty this afternoon?” “You were indeed,” said Larry. “You almost broke my heart, but this wipes all out; my heart is singing again. That awfully jolly letter of Elfie's this week made me quite homesick for the open and for the breezes of the Alberta foothills.” “Tell me what she said,” said Rowena, not because she wanted so much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved to hear him talk, and upon no subject could Larry wax so eloquent as upon the foothill country of Alberta. Long after they had secured Larry's new suit and gone on their way through park and boulevard, Larry continued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and limpid lakes, and always the western rampart of the eternal snow-clad peaks. “And how is the mine doing?” inquired Rowena, for Larry had fallen silent. “The mine? Oh, there's trouble there, I am afraid. Switzer--you have heard of Switzer?” “Oh, yes, I know all about him and his tragic disappointment. He's the manager, isn't he?” “The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case it means the same thing, for he runs the mine. Well, Switzer wants to sell his stock. He and his father hold about twenty-five thousand dollars between them. He means to resign. And to make matters worse, the manager left last week. They are both pulling out, and it makes it all the worse, for they had just gone in for rather important extensions. I am anxious a bit. You see they are rather hard up for money, and father raised all he could on his ranch and on his mining stock.” “How much is involved?” inquired Rowena.