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“Time to dress, sir,” suggested Ephraim.

Allison pushed to the floor the railroad map upon which he had been working, and pulled another one towards him. Ephraim waited one minute.

“I’ve run your tub, sir.”

Allison leafed rapidly through the pages of an already hard-used book, to the section concerning the Indianapolis and St. Joe Railroad. Ephraim looked around calculatingly, and selected an old atlas from the top of the case near the door. He held it aloft an instant, and let it fall with a slam.

“Oh, it’s you,” remarked the absorbed Allison, glancing up.

“Yes, sir,” returned Ephraim. “You told me to come for you at seven-fifteen.”

Allison arose, and rubbed the tips of his fingers over his eyes.

“Keep this room locked,” he ordered, and stalked obediently upstairs. For the next thirty minutes he belonged to Ephraim.

He was as carefree as a boy when he reached Jim Sargent’s house, and his eyes snapped when he saw Gail come down the stairs, in a pearl tinted gown, with a triple string of pearls in her waving hair, and a rose-coloured cloak depending from her gracefully sloping shoulders.