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“What’s the matter, Doolie?” he demanded peevishly. “Four chocolates. Didn’t you hear the dressy party agree to pay for them?”

“I—the fact is, Watson—the—the chocolate is—is——”

“The chocolate is what?” asked Watson, suspiciously calm.

“Out!”

“Out! Oh, run away and play, Doolie! Quit your joking! Of course you’ve got chocolate! If you haven’t you’d better dig some up mighty quick, Old Top! Get a move on now! Ginger up, Doolie, ginger up!”

“I’m awfully sorry, Watson, but there ain’t any. You see, I was just going to make some when that fellow came in and——”

“Asked for it, I’ll bet a doughnut!” exclaimed Watson. “Say, you, Mr. Smart Aleck”—Watson’s jaw dropped. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“The new fellow?” replied one of the younger boys. “Oh, he just went out!”

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Rodney, smiling at his thoughts, was a block away. While he was by no means running, he was at the same time proceeding decidedly faster than before. The vicinity of Doolittle’s Pharmacy was not, he told himself, a healthy locality for him just then. In fact, he was somewhat relieved when the main street, as though despairing of being able to climb any further in a straight line, broke in two like a letter Y. Once around the turn to the left he would be no longer in sight from the drug store. His instructions from the expressman had been to take the left-hand road where River Street branched. What he was to do after that he no longer recalled. Consequently when he came to a cross street that appeared to curve back toward the other branch of the Y he let it severely alone. But a few rods further on he doubted his wisdom. The stores had stopped two blocks below—he was still climbing upward, although at a more comfortable grade—and residences had taken their place. About him now were large yards, with many trees and beds of flowers; dahlias and asters and flaming scarlet sage and golden-yellow marigolds; with quiet, peaceful old-fashioned white houses with green window shutters tucked well away from the street. Ahead of him the road seemed bent on losing itself in open country, and the dwelling houses were growing scarcer. The Westcott house, whither his baggage had gone and where he himself was leisurely bound, was opposite the Academy campus; the letter from Mrs. Westcott had distinctly so stated; and as yet there was nothing even dimly resembling a campus in sight. He paused under the shade of a big elm, whose far-reaching branches had already begun to carpet the street with their rusty-yellow leaves, and looked about him.