entrance, came to life and rolled noiselessly forward, and came to a stop at the steps. At about the same instant a group of four persons emerged from the further entrance: a slim, beautifully dressed woman, a black-clothed man in a square-crowned derby hat carrying without evident exertion the boy who, but a few minutes before, had flashed congratulations to Clif across the recitation room, and, lastly, a small Junior School youth. The woman—even at the distance Clif could see that she was remarkably pretty—entered the car, the man in black deposited his burden beside her, the small Junior ensconced himself rather diffidently in the corner, and the derby hat placed itself beside the plum-colored cap of the chauffeur. Then the car moved forward again, gathered speed, and purred softly past West and down the shaded driveway, the poised figure above the radiator glinting in the sunlight. As the car passed the single occupant of the West Hall steps, Loring Deane leaned across the younger boy beside him and waved. Clif waved back, but too late to be seen.
He watched the car out of sight, approving the speckless luster of its long, sleek body, its smooth, almost soundless progress. Even the blue and white number plate at the rear shone immaculately, seeming to proclaim not only that the owner was a resident of New York, but that he was the possessor of great wealth, since, or so Clif had long since concluded, only those of great wealth were able to drive about in cars as immaculate as this one! The lady was, he supposed,
