ight; it 'll be sooner than you think. Come on,
Muck," and the older brother turned and left the garage.

Muck, who for the past few seconds had been gazing at Armitage with
wide eyes, slipped down from the car and stood in front of him.

"Say," he exclaimed, "you 're the fellow I gave that note to in
church--the one from my sister--are n't you?"

He grinned as Armitage looked at him dumbly.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I shan't tell. Sister gave me a
five-dollar gold piece. I thought you did n't act like a chauffeur.
Say, show me that grip you got on Ronie, will you? He has been too
fresh lately,--I want to spring it on him. Can I learn it?"

"Not that one." Armitage took the boy's hand, his thumb pressing back
of the second knuckle, his fingers on the palm. He twisted backward
and upward gently. "There 's one that's better, though, and easier.
See? Not that way," as the boy seized his hand. "Press here. That's
right. Now you 've got it. You can make your brother eat out of your
hand."

"Thanks!" Muck left beaming, searching for his disgruntled
brother--and Armitage had made a friend.

A minute later Royal, or Muck, as his nickname seemed to be, thrust his
head into the garage. "You 're not going to say anything to mother
about the cigarettes, are you?"

"That's the best guess you ever made," smiled Armitage. "You and I 'll
settle that, won't we?"

"Rather," replied the boy, who departed with a nod.

"Well, you 've done it," said Ryan, gazing at Armitage admiringly.
"Master Ronald will raise hell!"

Armitage shook his head.

"I don't care, I just had to devil that rooster. He was insufferable.
I--"

The telephone bell rang, and Ryan, with a significant I-told-you-so
grimace took up the receiver. A second later a smile of relief lighted
his face.

"Very well. Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to Armitage.

"The butler, Mr. Buchan, says that Miss Wellington would have you bring
out her car at once. She don't want any footman."

Armitage arose with a thrill which set his ears tingling, cranked the
motor, and within a minute was rolling out of the garage.

CHAPTER XI

THE DYING GLADIATOR

She was waiting, when Armitage, who was leaning back in his seat in the
most professional manner, shut off power under the _porte cochere_ and
glanced at her for directions.

"To Mrs. Van Valkenberg's," she said. "Do you know where she lives?"

"No, I don't, Miss Wellington."