The blood began to tingle in Barry’s finger tips, and his eyes sparkled. The sound of that booming voice was sweeter in his ears than the most ravishing music. The sight of that great, muscular figure, clad in a loose, woolly coat of English frieze, was a pleasure greater than the most world-famous masterpiece of painting had ever produced. Of a sudden he was smitten with a doubt as to whether his course had been right or not. He stammered something vague about the trouble at the bank, but Hamersley promptly cut him short. "Rot!" he bellowed. "Bosh! I’d punch your head, only I’m afraid of the concussion all that gas would make rushing out. What have you done with the sense the Lord gave you when you think the boys paid any attention to that stuff? You’re more a fool than I thought you, and that’s saying a lot." He had linked his arm through Barry’s, and the two proceeded briskly down the avenue together. Within three minutes Lawrence had a feeling that nothing had ever happened. After that first outburst, Jock slipped back into his old manner, quite as if they had parted only the night before. He asked no questions, even by inference, seeming content with what his companion volunteered; and by the time they paused before the building where the Yale man had offices, Lawrence felt as if he had come into his own again. "You’ll lunch with me, of course," the big fellow said. Barry’s face fell. "I’m beastly sorry, Jock," he returned slowly, "but I’ve an engagement. I’m booked for luncheon and dinner both." "Humph! Well, drop in at the yacht club around five, and we’ll have a good talk. Yes? Right! Don’t forget, now." He started into the building, but was back in an instant. "Say," he exclaimed. "There’s a dance at Sherry’s to-night, and I’ve got an extra card. Don’t start till eleven or so. How about it?" Barry’s mind was made up in a flash. That would give him time for dinner and a call on Miss Rives. His meeting with Hamersley had set stirring within him an intense desire to mingle with his kind, to be one of the passing show, instead of a mere onlooker, no matter how spectacular a part the latter was. He wanted to go to that dance. He would go. "That hits me all right," he said; "nothing I’d like better." As he walked on down the street the smile still lingered on his lips. He was thinking of what he had been twenty-four hours before. Already the pain and suffering and sordidness of that phase of his life seemed nebulous and unreal. At times he caught himself wondering if it had not been an amazingly vivid and horrible nightmare. The wheel of fortune was whirling him higher with every passing moment. *CHAPTER XIV.* *FOLLOWED.*