"This song I just played was for you."
He rose, smiling, and advanced toward Ken. He resembled an ancient philosopher approaching one of his pupils, Socrates greeting a Spartan youth come to Athens to study life and lore at his feet.
"I am glad, dear boy, that you have enjoyed yourself," said Mr. Lowell. "Mr. Pawne tells me you are studying dancing."
"Yes—I've limbered up swell. Won't be long before I'll be ready with a real routine."
"Have you made any new friends?"
"No."
"Not one?"
"Buddy Nolan."
"He is a splendid fellow. Ah, yes … I remember him very favorably."
"We went to the Rendezvous together this afternoon."
"The Rendezvous?" Mr. Lowell's eyes narrowed. Ken's heart pulsated more rapidly.
"It's a place where a lot of boys go."
"But how did you get there?"
"I drove the Rolls."
"Mr. Pawne let you drive the Rolls?"
"Why, yes. I asked him myself."
Mr. Lowell had quickly crossed the room to the organ. He touched a button. "It isn't your fault, Ken, but I prefer that you do not visit places like the Rendezvous. Of course you were entirely innocent in the matter, but Buddy Nolan should not have taken you there. What did he say to you?"
"Nothing." A lump grew in Ken's throat.
