“Well, I’ll be—­see here, it was after dark when that train—­”

“The hotel hand had a lantern.  You unwisely allowed its rays to strike your face.”

Julius burst into a smothered laugh.  “Well, you’re a good one!”

“I’m glad you think so—­since I’m asking of you this thing you so dislike to do.”

“I don’t dislike it; I’m delighted to have the chance.  I’ll have her on that train if I have to blindfold her.”

“Don’t do that.  Show her the card.”

The two shook hands with a strong grip of affection and understanding.  Then Waldron, wheeling the chair himself, took his friend Hackett away as carefully as if he were convoying a baby.  Julius, after seeing the party through the gates, went back to his college rooms, his wits busy with the task which so took hold of his fancy.

Julius would have enjoyed scheming involvedly, but Waldron had been too peremptory about that to allow of a particle of intrigue.  So, before he slept, he sent his sister a special-delivery letter knowing she would receive it in the morning.  It stated, after describing the situation to her (with a few private and characteristic touches of his own), that he would call her up by telephone to receive her reply, and that he would go through the city on a certain afternoon train on which she was to join him.  This plan would give the pair time for a leisurely dinner in Boston before meeting Waldron upon the ten o’clock train.  When he had Dorothy on the wire next morning he was not surprised that her first words were these: 

“Julius—­is it surely Julius?  Well—­I don’t see how I can go!”

“Why not?  Got the mumps—­or any other disfiguring complaint?”

“Mercy, no!  But—­it can’t be that it is necessary!  He—­he certainly could—­”

“Did you read that schedule?”

Julius’s voice had in it a commanding, no-compromise quality.  He knew that this feminine evasiveness was probably inevitable; they were made that way, these girls; but he did not intend to let the time limit of an expensive long-distance call be exceeded by mere nonsense.

“Ye-es, but—­”

“Now listen.  We’ve got three minutes to talk; we’ve used thirty seconds already saying nothing.  I’m going to be on that train.  I’m going to have that little trip with Kirke, and if you don’t have it, it will be pure foolishness; and you’ll cry your eyes out afterward to think you didn’t.  He can’t get to you; if he could he’d do it; you must know him well enough for that if you’ve been hearing from him all these months.  Now—­will you be there?”

“Julius!  I’m afraid I—­”

“Will you be there?”

“Why—­don’t you think I—­perhaps I ought to have Bud—­”

“No, I don’t.  I’m all the chaperon you’ll need for this affair.  If you go and get another woman mixed up with it you’ll lose half of your fun, for she’ll be sure to forget she’s the chaperon—­you know Bud—­and first you know you’ll be chaperoning her.  See?  Will you be at the station?  I’m going to hang up now in just fifteen seconds!”