seemed undecided whether to let him go or to drag him back into the vehicle. Bosworth found what he was looking for in his waistcoat pocket. He pressed it into the driver's hand.

"I'm sorry it isn't more," he said regretfully. "It may be a dollar, or it may be a five, but no matter which it is, it ought to be more. Now I'll tell you what I want you to do. If you can't get this thing going by 'leven o'clock, I want you to go up to Martin's and have 'em send a four-horse sleigh to No. 511. It's the first residence north of the Lackaday, and it's the number I've been compelled to select as a last resort. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Martin's livery, sir. I'll attend to everything, sir. Thank you, sir."

He stood there in the blinding snow, watching his fare struggle to the sidewalk. Then he decided to follow along behind him until the "young gent" was safely within the doors of No. 511. He had driven Mr. Van Pycke before and he knew that it was not a dollar bill.

Bosworth reached the steps leading up to the rather imposing doorway at No. 511. There was a heavy, stubborn iron gate at the foot, which he had some difficulty in opening because of the snow. While he was working with it, a man came plump up against him. Together they seized upon the gate and yanked with all their might and main.

"Thanks," said Buzzy, when it was open.

"Don't thank me," snapped the other. "I'm going in myself."

They mounted the six or eight steps to the storm doors, side by side, enveloped in the snow that scuttled around the corner of the big Lackaday hotel next door. With a great stamping of boots they floundered into the shelter of the outer vestibule.

The light in the hall beyond shone through the glass doors, illuminating the box-like coop in which they paused, each selfishly to occupy himself in catching his breath and at the same time shake the snow from his person. In the act of knocking the snow from the tops of their silk hats they glanced up simultaneously, each having arrived at the moment when it was convenient for him to inquire into the identity of his fellow visitor.

They stared hard for a moment.

"Hello, dad! Are you lost?"

Mr. Van Pycke muttered something into the collar of his coat. Fortunately the wind outside was making such a noise that his son did not 

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