Mr. Hall and Mr. Talbot, on their feet, smiled at each other in satisfaction as the throng surged over the field.

“Some game!” said the former.

“I should say so! Well, glad to have met you, Hall. And—er—by the way, in regard to that Barry case. Seems to me we might—er——”

“My idea exactly,” replied the other heartily. “I’ll very gladly advise a settlement to my client. I’ll drop around in a day or two and we’ll talk it over. Good-bye!”

Mr. Talbot followed the players to the dressing-room, worming his way through a crowd of enthusiastic youths, who had gathered to show their approval of the Blues, and Mr. Hall, seeking a way from the field, was suddenly confronted by the gentleman who carried the cane and the grey gloves. Mr. Hall’s face expressed surprise and delight.

“Johnny!” he exclaimed. “Where’d you drop from?”

Mr. York chuckled as he shook hands. “Hello, old man,” he said. “You look almost as flabbergasted as Sam Craig did when I yelled.”

“Was that you bellowing like a bull?” laughed Mr. Hall. “I might have known it. You’re always right there with the advice, Johnny.”

“Well, it happened to be good advice this time. It won the game.”

“Oh, certainly,” scoffed the other. “Craig and the others had nothing to do with it!”

“Craig did what I told him to,” replied Mr. York untroubledly. “If he hadn’t, he’d never have nailed that man at second and the score would have been tied at this minute—unless the other chaps had won. Come on and let’s get out of here.”

“When did you arrive?” asked Mr. Hall when they were on the street.

“About an hour ago. Ran down to Columbus last night, got there early this morning, and found I could catch a train over here and see you for a few hours and still get back to Mount Placid to-morrow morning. My train goes at nine-something, and I’ll have to change in the middle of the night. I call that a real proof of love and affection, John.”

“Yes, but you’re a silly chap if you think I’m going to let you go on to-night.”

“Sorry, but I have to be home in the morning. Topsy gets back and I must be there to meet her. Well, how are you?”

“Bully, thanks. I needn’t ask how you are; you look as strong as an ox; besides, I got news of you from young Craig. By the way, that was a nice letter you wrote to me about him.”

“By Jove, I didn’t, did I? Meant to, but quite forgot it. Have you seen him?”

“Yes, he came around one morning and we had a chat. Nice boy.”

“Yes, he is. Deserving, too. I never saw a chap his age who looked more like a real catcher, John. I want to do something for him; want to get him into college.”

“Hm,” said Mr. Hall. “Can’t you afford it?”

Mr. York laughed ruefully. “Yes, but he won’t let me. At least, not the easy way. I offered to get him a college position and he turned me down; said it wouldn’t be honest.”

“Good for him! What’s your plan, then?”

“Well—I haven’t any yet. Thought I’d consult you. That reminds me that I invited him to meet us at your office after dinner.”

“My office? Why didn’t you have him come to the club?”

“Well, the office is on my way to the station, for one thing, and I won’t have much time here. Thought you and I could have some dinner together and a quiet smoke and then walk down to the office and see Craig for a few minutes. All right?”

“Surely, but we must get there before eight or we’ll have to climb nine flights of stairs. The elevators stop at eight.”

“I think I told him about eight. By the way, did you hear me having fun with Nick Turner?”

“Who’s he?”

“Why, that fellow who pitched for Lynton.”

“Smith, you mean? So his name is Turner, eh? Was that you who hurled insults at him from the stand?”

“Insults, nothing!” Mr. York chuckled. “I only asked him why he left Shreveport and how much he was getting to-day and a few things like that. Only asked for information, John.”

“Well, you broke up the game, you old schemer! Who is this chap?”

“Nick Turner? Pitched two years ago for Shreveport. Never was much good, though. Knew him the minute I saw him pitch. I dare say those Lynton boys made up a ten-dollar purse to get him to work for them to-day. They ought to be spanked. I was glad you fellows here licked them without any outside assistance.”

“They talked about having me pitch for them,” replied Mr. Hall, with a smile. “I believe I agreed to do it if necessary.”

“Glad you didn’t, old man. By the way, I telephoned out to the Country Club when I didn’t find you at your office, and they said you weren’t there. Just by accident I heard of the ball game from a conductor on a trolley-car and said to myself, ‘I’ll bet a million the old loafer’s out there!’ Didn’t find you in the stand, though, and didn’t think of looking for you below; not until you and another chap got to thumping each other like two kids; saw you then. Those kids played a pretty good game of ball, didn’t they? And wasn’t that fellow who pitched for Amesville the same one we saw last spring?”

“Yes, Tom Pollock. He’ll make his mark some day, I guess.”

“Sure to; he’s a good pitcher.”

“I didn’t mean as a pitcher,” replied the other. “I meant as a man. I suppose, though, you can’t understand judging anyone except by his ability to play baseball, you crazy fan!”

“I like that! Crazy fan, eh? What were you doing to-day? Why weren’t you in your office attending to business? How do you expect to get on in the world if you go to ball games and such puerile affairs?”

“Oh, Saturday’s a half holiday here,” Mr. Hall laughed. “Here we are. Did you leave your bag here?”

“Yes, the hall porter took charge of it. Show me a tub of cold water, John. I’m two inches deep in train dust!”

It was a few minutes before eight when Sam, turning into Main Street at the corner of the Adams Building, saw Mr. Hall and Mr. York just entering the big doorway. He caught up with them at the elevator and as they were whisked aloft past dark corridors he had to listen to much praise.

“You played a regular air-tight game, Sam,” declared Mr. York. “And that throw to second at the last was a marvel. What did you think when you heard me yell?”

“There wasn’t time to think anything,” replied Sam. “If I’d stopped to think I’d never have thrown that way, sir. You see, I haven’t much chance to try it yet.”

“But you had tried it, hadn’t you?”

“Not in a game, sir; just in practise the other day.”

“Well, you certainly pulled it off in grand style! And I want to tell you that if you’d thrown your old way you’d never have caught him. He had an awful lead from first and ran like a rabbit. This our floor?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Hall, “unless you and Craig want to stay there and ride up and down and talk baseball.”

“This man, Sam,” warned Mr. York, “is an awful hypocrite. He pretends he doesn’t care a thing about the game, but some time I’ll tell you a few facts about him; like the time he dented in the immaculate silk topper of a perfectly respectable old gentleman at the White Sox park in Chicago.”

“Well, I bought him a new one,” laughed Mr. Hall, as he unlocked his door. “Enter, gentlemen.”

“Seems to me,” said Mr. York, pausing to sniff suspiciously, “I smell smoke. Don’t you?”

“Smoke? No, I don’t think so. Probably from the railroad. It comes up here when the wind’s right. Smell anything, Craig?”

“Yes, sir, I believe there is a smoky smell.”

“Well, come on. This building’s fireproof, anyway.”

“It’s what?” demanded Mr. York as he allowed himself to be urged through the door.

“Fireproof, or what they call fireproof.”

“It’s about as fireproof as a can of gasoline,” said the architect as Mr. Hall closed the door and turned the lights on. “You’ve got nice brick and stone walls, but your partitions are only plaster over lathing and your floors are the best quality of ‘fat’ pine. If this thing ever did catch on fire and get a nice start it would go like a bundle of shavings. Where’s your fire escape?”

“Fire escape? Why, at the back, I think; down the corridor.”

“It might be a good idea to find out,” returned the other drily. “Well, Sam, how did the hike go?”

“Very well, sir. I found them at Norrence all right and we got back to camp three days later.”

“And now you’re back at school, I suppose.”

“Not until Monday, sir. Will you have this chair, Mr. Hall?”

“No, no, sit still. I’m going to open these windows and get some air in here. Wonderful how this warm weather keeps on. I suppose it’s cool up where you are, Johnny.”

“Y-yes, but not freezing. Did Sam here tell you that he paid a short visit to Greysides, John?”

“Yes, he told me about it. Must have been frightfully dull for him, poor chap!”

“He didn’t say so, but maybe it was.”

“I—I had a fine time, sir,” said Sam earnestly. The others laughed.

“We had some fine old talks, anyway, didn’t we? That brings me to what I wanted to say, Sam. About that college idea, you know. I haven’t worked anything out yet, but—— Look here, John, I certainly do smell smoke, I tell you!”

“Of course you do. I’ve just opened the windows. It comes from the railroad yards.”

“It doesn’t smell like coal smoke,” Mr. York objected. “Still—let me see, what was I talking about? Oh, about that college scheme, Sam. Ever think you’d like my profession?”

Sam considered. Then he shook his head. “No, sir, I’ve never thought about it,” he answered.

“No inclination toward architecture, eh?”

“I’ve never thought about it, Mr. York.”

“Ever build anything?”

“I built a hen-house once,” replied Sam, with a smile. “I like to do that sort of thing, but——”

“Where’d you get your plan?”

“Nowhere; I mean I just—just went ahead and put it together.”

“But you planned it in your head first, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did,” Sam confessed. “You see, there was the framework.”

“Did you do it all yourself? How big was it?”

“About twelve by eight. I did it all myself, usually after school or in the morning. It—it wasn’t much.”

“Ever do any drawing?”

“I’ve tried to.”

“Like good pictures, handsome buildings, statuary—such things?”

“Yes, sir, very much.”

“Still you don’t think you’d care to create them, eh?”

“Indeed I would, Mr. York, but I don’t believe I ever could. I’d like to build a real house some time, though. You wouldn’t have to know so much to do that, would you?”

Mr. York laughed and Mr. Hall smiled sympathetically. “Why, yes, Sam, in order to build a house you’ve got to know quite a bit. Look here, why don’t you think it over and decide whether you’d like to be an architect? If you would, you can start your college course with that end in view; and in the summers there’s a place in our office you can have. The wages wouldn’t be large, but you’d learn the business and if you made good I guess we’d be glad to give you a real job. You’d have to work hard, though, and study like the dickens. What do you think about it?”

“I’d like it!” declared Sam decidedly. “If I really could learn enough to—to be an architect——”

“Pshaw,” interrupted Mr. Hall, “it’s no trick, Craig. All the fellows in my class at college who couldn’t make a living at laying brick or driving express wagons went in for architecture. All, that is, except John York. He had so much money he didn’t have to make it, and we persuaded him to be an architect because we thought he could do as little harm in that profession as any.”

Sam smiled obligingly and Mr. York threatened his friend with a paper-weight.

“You give it a good thinking over, Sam,” he continued. “Talk to your folks about it. You don’t have to decide before you get to college. And as to college, why, you’ll just have to make it somehow, old man. We’ll keep our eyes open and see if we can’t find a scheme. John and I will get our heads together”—Mr. York was interrupted by a fit of coughing—“and work out something. Look here, John, this place is worse than Pittsburg! Why, the room is full of smoke. Close the windows if you don’t want me to choke to death!”

Mr. Hall started to comply with the request, then apparently changed his mind, and walked to the door that led to the corridor. “It certainly is smoky,” he muttered, “and it can’t all come from the railroad.” He opened the door and staggered back before the cloud of dense and acrid smoke that billowed in. The others leaped to their feet with exclamations of alarm. Mr. Hall slammed the door shut again and faced them.

“Fire,” he announced in level tones. “The flames are coming up the elevator well, Johnnie.”

“So much for your fireproof building,” replied Mr. York, seizing his hat and stick and gloves from the desk. “Which way out, please?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “We’re cut off from the stairs and the elevators aren’t running. Couldn’t use them if they were, I guess.”

“But the fire escape, man! Where’s that?”

“We’ll try it, but it looks bad, Johnnie. I wonder—Put your head out, Craig, and see if there’s any sign of excitement below. No? Then it hasn’t been seen.” Mr. Hall strode to the telephone and yanked the receiver off. “Fire department,” he said. “Emergency!” There was a moment’s wait. Mr. York opened the door again and once more the clouds of smoke seethed into the room, whirling and eddying as they met the air from the windows. He looked up and down the corridor, returned, closing the door again, and shook his head as his gaze met that of the man at the telephone.

“Hurry up, John,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t look pretty to me.”

“Hello! Hello! Fire department? The Adams Building’s on fire. What? I’m John Hall. Yes. I’m in my office on the tenth floor. Everything looks to be pretty hot underneath. We’re going to try to make the fire escape. Good-bye.”

Mr. Hall dropped the receiver back to the hook, looked about the office, took a step toward his safe, shrugged his shoulders, and moved toward the door. “Come on, Johnnie,” he said quietly. “We’ll have to make a run for it. Craig, keep close to us. If we can’t make it we’ll have to come back here and wait for ladders. All ready? Slip out and I’ll shut this door again. Wait! How about handkerchiefs over our faces?”

“Right!” agreed Mr. York. “Got one, Sam? That’s the ticket! Now then, hold your breath and keep together. Which way, John?”

“To the right, past the stairway. Come on!”

Sam never quite forgot that dash for safety. It was a horrible nightmare while it lasted. Somewhere near the stairway a solitary electric bulb had faintly illumined the gloom of the long corridor when they had ascended, but there was no sign of it now. Instead, from the shaft in which the two elevators were operated, a lurid glow poured up, rising and falling as though somewhere in the depths of the building a giant furnace was being stoked. With the light of the flames ascended billows of dun-coloured smoke and showers of sparks, and, listening as they crouched for their dash past the well, they heard the growling roar of the fire, with now and then the sudden crackling of the eager flames which, even as they looked, sent a tiny tongue licking at the flooring. The fire escape was at the rear of the building, down the length of the long corridor, and to reach it they must win past that veritable crater of heat and smoke. Thrice they tried it and thrice they were beaten back, their eyes blinded, their lungs choked with the scorching fumes. And then, endurance at an end, they staggered desperately back to the office, suffered torments while Mr. Hall fumbled for the knob, and at last, gasping and sobbing, sought relief at the open windows.

It was a full minute before anyone spoke. Then, drawing a deep breath into his parched lungs, Mr. Hall said quietly, with a twisted sort of smile, “Rather silly being roasted alive here, Johnny!”

“We sha’n’t be. They’ll have us out of here in a minute. There they come now! Hear?”

From somewhere far below came the shriek of the engine siren, sounding nearer and nearer, and the clang of the bells. And at that moment the light in the office went out and they were in darkness.