He would learn before he acted decisively. He stared at a pigeonhole in his desk marked T. T. M. There he kept all letters Tom had written him from boarding-school and from college. Presently he raised his head and drew a deep breath. There was no need to worry until he knew. It would be a waste of energy and of time; and, for all his millions, he could not afford the waste. He rang a bell; and when a clerk appeared he said in his calm, emotionless voice: “I'll see Governor Bolton the moment he comes in.” There was a big battle on between capital and labor. He was in the thick of it. He put Tom out of his mind for the time being. He could do that at will; but he could not put Tom out of his heart--this little chap that people called ruthless. V Tom Merriwether went to the box-office at the Metropolitan and said, pleasantly, as men do when they ask for what they know will be given to them: “I want the seat just back of G 77--orchestra--for to-night. I suppose it will be H 77.” The clerk, who knew the heir of the Merriwether millions, said, “I'll see whether we have it, Mr. Merriwether.” He saw. Then he said, with sincere regret: “I'm very sorry. It's gone.” “I must have it,” said Tom, determinedly. “I don't quite see how I can help you, Mr. Merri-wether. I can give you another just as--” “I don't want any other seat. Who bought it?” “I don't know. It may be a subscription seat, sold months ago.” “It's the double seven on the seventh row that I am concerned about. I want the seat just back of it.” “I'll call up the ticket agencies. There's a bare chance they may have it.” After a few minutes he said, “I'm very sorry, Mr. Merriwether, but I can't get it. They haven't it.” “I'm willing to pay any price for H 77. I'll give you a hundred dollars if you--” “Mr. Merriwether, I couldn't do it if you offered me a thousand! If I could do it at all I'd be only too glad to do it for you--for nothing,” the clerk said, and blushed. Everybody liked Tom. The sincerity in the clerk's voice impressed young Mr. Merriwether, who thanked him warmly and withdrew. The baffled feeling that he took away with him from the ticket-window grew in intensity until he was ready to fight. It was a natural-enough impulse that led him back to 777 Fifth Avenue; but he was not quite sure whether he was angry at the man for telling him to do what was obviously impossible or at himself for determining to find her! He rang the bell of the house of mystery. The footman that answered was one of the intelligent four; but his face was impassive, as though he had never before seen Tom. “Your master?” asked Tom, abruptly. “Your card, please,” said the footman, impassively. Tom gave it to him. The man disappeared, presently to return. “This way, sir.” And at the door in the rear he paused and announced, “Mr. Merriwether!” The master of the house was in his usual place. He bowed his head gravely and waited. “I couldn't get the seat,” said Tom, with a frown.