"Good! It will grow more distinct with time. I'll call for you, then. A number of the boys are going to charter a little steamer and sail down the river, and into the lake. We'll land at a point about four miles from Fairview, and go over in some automobiles." "That will be jolly!" "I'm glad you think so. Is the picture any clearer?" "Oh, yes, much so. I think the autos have cleared away the mist. Aren't we silly, though?" she asked. "Not a bit of it," declared Tom stoutly. "I'll be on hand here for you, then, shortly after lunch on Saturday." "Is the nine going that way?" Tom felt a sudden suspicion. Was she asking because she wanted to know whether Langridge would be in the party of merrymakers? "No, I think they're going in a big stage." "I thought maybe you might want to be with the nine," she went on, and Tom saw that he had misunderstood. "You might get a chance to pitch," and she looked at him. "No such luck," replied Tom, trying to speak cheerfully, but finding it hard work. "Well, I'll say good-night, or, rather, good-morning. When I write home I must tell my folks about meeting you here." "Yes, do. I've already written to mine, telling what a fine time I'm having." Tom was rather thoughtful on his way home. He stumbled into his dark room, nearly falling over something. "What's the matter?" asked Sid, who was in bed. "That's what I want to know," replied Tom, striking a match. "Why don't you keep your patent leathers out of the middle of the floor?" he demanded. "I did, Tommy, me lad, as Bricktop Molloy would say, but I had to throw them out there later." "How's that?" "Mice. Two of the cute little chaps sitting in the middle of the floor, eating some nuts that dropped out of my pocket. I stretched out on the bed without undressing when I came in from the dance, and must have fallen asleep, with the light burning. When I woke up I saw the mice staring at me, and I heaved my shoes at the beggars, for I'd taken 'em off--my shoes, I mean--when I came in, as my feet hurt from dancing so much. Then I doused the glim and turned in, for I knew you wouldn't be along until daylight." "Why not?" "Oh, I saw you going off with her. I admire your taste, old man, but it must be hard on Langridge." "It's his own fault." "So I understand. I heard about it." "Um," murmured Tom, for he did not want to talk about Miss Tyler and her affairs--at least not yet. There are some things that one likes to ponder over, and think about--all alone.