plans for the afternoon which he was beginning to fear might be thwarted if
this seemingly endless and aimless excursion continued. He looked at the
packet of unopened envelopes.

"It would be easy to break open the whole outfit, and see what this game
is," he thought. "Never knew father to do a thing like this before. If it's
a joke,"--his fingers felt the seal of envelope No. 4,--"I might as well
find it out at once. Still, father never would joke with a fellow's promise
the way he asked it of me. 'My word of honor'--that's putting it pretty
strong. I'll see it through, of course. My, but I'm getting hungry! It must
be near luncheon-time."

It was not; but by the time Cyrus had been ordered twice across the city
and once up a sixteen-story building in which the elevator service was out
of order, it was past noon, and he was in a condition to find envelope No.
7 a very satisfactory one:--

"Go to Cafe Reynaud on Westchester Square. Take a seat at table in left
alcove. Ask waiter for card of Cornelius Woodbridge, Junior. Before
ordering luncheon read envelope No. 8."

The boy lost no time in obeying this command, and sank into his chair in
the designated alcove with a sigh of relief. He mopped his brow, and drank
a glass of ice-water at a gulp. It was a warm October day, and the sixteen
flights had been somewhat trying. He asked for his father's card, and then
sat studying the attractive menu.

"I think I'll have--" He mused for a moment, then said, with a laugh,
"Well, I'm about hungry enough to eat the whole thing. Bring me the--"