“There, isn’t that an ugly thing to be worth all that gold,” he said, placing the coin in Janet’s hand, and the others crowded about to get a better look at it. “There’s no accounting for taste,” admitted Janet, handing it back to Tom. “Personally I’d rather buy....” A long blue flame shot out from under the teakettle, and Marjorie jumped from her seat in alarm. “Lord! the alcohol lamp’s busted,” shouted Tom, dropping the pasteboard box on the sideboard, and reaching over he seized the boiling kettle and its nickel frame. “Open the window, Fordyce,” and he tossed the burning lamp out on the ground where it exploded harmlessly. “Were you burned, Madge?” he asked, returning to her side. “Oh, no, only frightened; the flame shot at me so suddenly.” Marjorie passed a nervous hand over her mouth, conscious that her lips were trembling. “I really think we must be leaving,” broke in Pauline. She did not like having attention diverted from herself, and playing second fiddle to a girl who worked for her living was too novel a sensation to be agreeable. “We’ve had a delightful time, Captain; good-bye everybody,” and she sailed out of the room, accompanied by her flurried host and her brother. “I don’t like to hurry you, Janet, but we must be going also,” said Marjorie quietly. “Yes, it’s later than I thought,” responded the younger girl. “Gracious, I entirely forgot we are going to the theater tonight.” “We will all meet there,” Barnard helped Janet into her coat with solicitous care. “Nichols and I are both invited by Judge and Mrs. Walbridge.” “Good-bye, Tom, we’ve had an awfully good time,” Marjorie gave her cousin’s hand an affectionate squeeze as he helped her into the limousine. The Calhoun-Coopers’ car was already a dim speck in the distance. “Good-bye--see you all tonight,” shouted Tom, and watched the limousine out of sight. On re-entering the house he was on the point of going upstairs when he remembered the coin. Retracing his footsteps he went to the sideboard in the dining-room and opened the box. It was empty. Tom glanced in deep perplexity at the box, and then about the room. He had a very distinct recollection of stuffing the coin back into the box just as the flame from the lamp leaped out, and of dropping the closed box on the sideboard. There had been only himself and his guests in the house, for he had sent his striker over to assist at the tea-dance at the Administration Building, after first setting his master’s tea table.