to
inquire if he might be of assistance. In response to their question,
he directed them to a room on the upper floor.

The girls heard a hum of voices as they entered the exhibition hall.
After all they were not late. Artists, sculptors, society women and
art critics were moving about the room in stately groups, peering
curiously at the various statues which were displayed along the walls.
Penny and Susan felt slightly ill at ease in such company. Save for
one other girl who appeared to be about their own age, they were the
only young people present.

After showing their cards of admission, Penny and Susan joined the
milling throng. They peered at first one statue and then another, but
were not really enthusiastic until they came to a tiny figure which
seemed to be attracting more than its share of attention.

It was an unusual piece; a small, dejected imp of clay who sat hunched
over a woodland log. The work had rhythm and grace.

The girls studied the placard beneath the figure and Penny read aloud:

"The Black Imp by Amy Coulter."

"Sort of cute, isn't it?" Susan commented.

From the conversation which flowed about them they quickly gathered
that the Black Imp was considered by artists and critics to be one of
the most promising entries in the contest. They heard several
distinguished appearing persons say that they expected the figure to
win first prize.

"I am not so sure of that," another gentleman disagreed. "The work
deserves to win--but judges have strange opinions sometimes."

"Especially a judge such as Hanley Cron," the other added dryly. As he
spoke, he jerked his head in the direction of a tall, thin man who
stood at the opposite side of the room.

Until that moment, Penny and Susan had not noticed him. It was the
same driver who had caused them so much annoyance.

"Gracious!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone as she made the
disconcerting discovery. "Do you suppose _he_ is Hanley Cron, the
contest judge?"

"That's what those two men just said," Susan returned. "Let's get away
from here before he sees us."

She tugged at her chum's hand but Penny would not budge.

"Why should we run away, Sue? The accident was all his fault. Anyway,
I'm curious to see the statue he'll select as the prize winner."

"I hope he knows more about art than he does of driving automobiles."

"Hanley Cron," Penny repeated thoughtfully to herself. "I've heard
that name before. Let me think--oh, now