It was plain, but clean and comfortable. “Just made for us,” Dick whispered to his mother. Up two flights of carpeted stairs, the apartment consisted of three cheerful bedrooms, parlor, dining-room, kitchen, and bathroom, all opening into a private hall; and the rent was thirty dollars a month. “If that hall bedroom will suit Mr. Darling,” Mrs. Sumner said, “I think we can get along very nicely here--though I must say I like to have a backyard.” “It is exactly the room I want,” Darling declared; and the flat was rented and arrangements made for moving in immediately. “I think we’re going to be just as snug as can be here,” Dick said to Darling several days later, when the moving was completed, but the rooms not entirely put in order yet. “What do you say to a little housewarming to-night, to give us a good start in the new home? Just among ourselves, you know. I think an oyster supper would be the thing, and I’m sure the folks would gladly sit up and help us eat it after we’re through work.” “That’s a good idea,” Darling answered. “You go ahead and make the arrangements and I will pay half the bills.” “It will be just fun to do the cooking,” said Florrie. “I’ll manage to cook whatever you get, and sit up to help eat it. It’s the cutest little kitchen, with everything so handy that cooking is no trouble at all.” “Oysters always go well,” Dick went on; “though anything ought to taste good in such a cozy little dining-room. We’ll need about two quarts; and I’ll get some celery and crackers and a little Roquefort cheese to wind up with. Some other night we’ll have a rarebit; sis is famous for making rarebits.” Preparations for the night’s banquet were begun, but fate had decreed that Dick was not to help eat it. In his enthusiasm he had forgotten for the moment that a reporter is never master of his own time, but may be sent to the most unexpected places at the most unexpected times. Dick’s day work kept him busy till eight o’clock in the evening, and as he had a small article to write after reaching the office, he had reason to believe that he would have nothing more to do that night. But he had hardly taken his seat when the night city editor called to him:-- “Sumner, can a man get over from Staten Island to the New Jersey shore in a sailboat to-night?” It was not unusual for Dick to be asked such questions, because he made a specialty of studying up all the routes of travel in and about the city. He was a perfect walking guide-book, and almost every day he found the knowledge useful. “He might, sir,” Dick replied, “but a sailboat is always very uncertain.” “I have sent Lawrence to the lower end of Staten Island,” the editor went on, “with orders to get a sailboat and go over to Port Monmouth as fast as possible. Do you think he can get there before midnight?” “It’s very doubtful, sir,” Dick answered. “Of course it depends upon the wind, and I should not like to take any chances on it.”