Myron was still slumbering when the telephone rang a second time. For a moment he stared at the ceiling, a perfectly strange ceiling that seemed to return his regard coldly, and strove to think where he was. While he was still struggling the impatient instrument on the table beside the bed buzzed again. Myron reached for it and recollection came to him.
“Yes,” he said sleepily. “Hello!”
“Gentleman to see you, Mr. Foster. Shall we send him up?”
“Gentleman to see me!” echoed Myron. Was it possible that his father had learned already of his departure from school and had come up from Port Foster? He was thoroughly awake now. “What is the name?” he asked. After a moment of silence: “Merriman,” said the voice at the other end. “Merriman?” thought Myron. “I don’t know any Merriman! Except Andy. Who the dickens——”
“I didn’t hear, Mr. Foster,” said the clerk politely.
“Oh—er—all right! Ask him to come up, please.” Myron put the receiver down, unlocked the door and returned to bed to hug his knees and stare perplexedly at the footboard. Who the dickens was Merriman? Of course it couldn’t be Andy. This was Philadelphia, and Andy was several hundred miles away. Well, he would soon know! Then came a tap at the door and Myron said “Come in” in an unnecessarily loud tone and the portal opened. Then it closed again. And Myron, with eyes that looked as big and as round as butter-chips, whispered: “Where’d you come from?”
[CHAPTER XXII]
MYRON COMES BACK
“Afraid I’ve spoiled your beauty sleep, Myron,” said the visitor. “Sorry, but I’ve been up so long I forgot how early it was.”