Cyrus made his way back to the car with some self-congratulations that
served to brace up the muscles behind his knees. This last incident showed
him plainly that his father was putting him to a severe test of some sort,
and he could have no doubt that it was for a purpose. His father was the
sort of man who does things with a very definite purpose indeed. Cyrus
looked back over the day with an anxious searching of his memory to be sure
that no detail of the singular service required of him had been slighted.

As he once more ascended the steps of his own home, he was so confident
that his labors were now ended that he almost forgot about envelope No. 20,
which he had been directed to read in the vestibule before entering the
house. With his thumb on the bell button he recollected, and with a sigh
broke open the final seal:--

"Turn about, and go to Lenox Street Station, B. Railroad, reaching there by
8:05. Wait for messenger in west end of station, by telegraph office."

It was a blow, but Cyrus had his second wind now. He felt like a machine--a
hollow one--which could keep on going indefinitely.

The Lenox Street Station was easily reached on time. The hands of the big
clock were only at one minute past eight when Cyrus entered. At the
designated spot the messenger met him. Cyrus recognized him as the porter
on one of the trains of the road of which his grandfather and father were
officers. Why, yes, he was the porter of the Woodbridge special car! He
brought the boy a card which ran thus:--

"Give porter the letter from Norfolk Building, the card received at
restaurant, the lecture coupon, yesterday evening's _Sentinel_, and the
envelope received at Kingston Heights."