confidential. To one who, like Archie, had never owned a bond, the
story made little appeal. He turned with more interest to a cheery
half-column on the activities of a gentleman in Minnesota who, with
what seemed to Archie, as he thought of Mr. Daniel Brewster, a good
deal of resource and public spirit, had recently beaned his father-
in-law with the family meat-axe. It was only after he had read this
through twice in a spirit of gentle approval that it occurred to him
that J. B. Wheeler was uncommonly late at the tryst. He looked at
his watch, and found that he had been in the studio three-quarters
of an hour.

Archie became restless. Long-suffering old bean though he was, he
considered this a bit thick. He got up and went out on to the
landing, to see if there were any signs of the blighter. There were
none. He began to understand now what had happened. For some reason
or other the bally artist was not coming to the studio at all that
day. Probably he had called up the hotel and left a message to this
effect, and Archie had just missed it. Another man might have waited
to make certain that his message had reached its destination, but
not woollen-headed Wheeler, the most casual individual in New York.

Thoroughly aggrieved, Archie turned back to the studio to dress and
go away.

His progress was stayed by a solid, forbidding slab of oak. Somehow
or other, since he had left the room, the door had managed to get
itself shut.

"Oh, dash it!" said Archie.