Miss Jinny reflected. Then: "Eleanor, call up the _Daybreak_ office and
ask if Mr. Lance is there and if he will speak to me."

But Aunt Basha was right. Mr. Lance was not at the _Daybreak_ office.
Mrs. Cabell was as grieved as a child.

"We'll find him, Grandmother," Eleanor asserted. "Why, of course--it's a
morning paper. He's home sleeping. I'll get his number." She caught up
the telephone book.

Aunt Basha chuckled musically. "He ain't got no tullaphome, honey chile.
No, my Lawd! Whar dat boy gwine git money for tullaphome and
contraptions? No, my Lawd!"

"How will we get him?" despaired Mrs. Cabell. The end of the council was
a cryptic note in the hand of Jackson, the chauffeur, and orders to
bring back the addressee at any cost.

Meanwhile, as Jackson stood in his smart dark livery taking orders with
the calmness of efficiency, feeling himself capable of getting that
young man, howsoever hidden, the young man himself was wasting valuable
hours off in day-dreams. In the one shabby big chair of the hall bedroom
he sat and smoked a pipe, and stared at a microscopic fire in a toy
grate. It was extravagant of David Lance to have a fire at all, but as
long as he gave up meals to do it likely it was his own affair. The
luxuries mean more than the necessities to plenty of us. With comfort in
this, his small luxury, he watched the play of light and shadow, and the
pulsing of the live scarlet and orange in the heart of the coals. He
needed comfort today, the lonely boy. Two men of the office force who
had gotten their commissions lately at an officer's training-camp had