“Perhaps you are looking for the people who moved into 141,” suggested the lady of the house. “I think that’s the name—Whitlock, and as I came by there this evening I heard sounds which indicated that they were having some kind of a party.”
“Just moved in?” Bert gasped. “Then that’s it. That’s the reason I couldn’t find the name in the directory.”
Then he made another dive for the cab, asking himself why folks who had just moved into a new neighborhood didn’t say so on their cards, or in some other manner notify people.
“No. 141,” he said to the jehu. “We’ll try that; and, if we don’t dig up the right place this time, we’ll give it up as a bad job.”
But it was the right place; and, although he was “desperately late,” as he admitted, he was graciously received. After he had feasted as well as could be expected at that late hour, he found that there was still an hour or more in which he and his mandolin would be very welcome.
When Bert reached his room that night he found Dick Starbright just turning in, and he hastily told his chum his story, for he had decided that he must ask him what he thought of the counterpart of Inza Burrage he had beheld in that house on Whitney Avenue.
“I knew you’d be late,” said Starbright. “You always are.”
“But I wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t forgotten the number,” Bert insisted. “But I don’t want a sermon; I want to know what you think about that young woman who looked so much like Inza Burrage that at first I could have sworn it was she?”
Dick sat down and deliberately looked his chum over.
“You haven’t been drinking?”