was odd, very odd. “Loosh” was what he had been called at college. That is, some of the fellows had called him that, those he liked best. The others had even more offensive nicknames. He disliked “Loosh” very much, but he answered to it—then.
“Loosh! Loosh! Loosh, where are you?”
Queer that any one should be calling him “Loosh”—any one down here in... Eh? Where was he? He couldn't remember much except that he was very tired—except—
“Loosh! Looshy! Come Looshy!”
He staggered to his feet and, leaving the suitcase where it was, stumbled away in the direction of the voice. The rain, pouring down upon him, served to bring him back a little nearer to reality. Wasn't that a light over there, that bright yellow spot in the fog?
It was a light, a lighted doorway, with a human figure standing in it. The figure of a woman, a woman in a dark dress and a white apron. It must be she who was calling him. Yes, she was calling him again.
“Loosh! Loosh! Looshy! Oh, my sakes alive! Why don't you come?”
Mr. Bangs bumped into something. It was a gate in a picket fence and the gate swung open. He staggered up the path on the other side of that gate, the path which led to the doorway where the woman was standing.
“Yes, madam,” said Galusha, politely but shakily lifting the brown derby, “here I am.”
The woman started violently, but she did not run nor scream.
“My heavens and earth!” she exclaimed. Then, peering forward, she stared at the dripping apparition which had appeared to her from the fog and rain.
“Here I am, madam,” repeated Mr. Bangs.
The woman nodded. She was middle-aged, with a pleasant face and a figure of the sort which used to be called “comfortable.” Her manner of looking and speaking were quick and businesslike.
“Yes,” she said, promptly, “I can see you are there, so you needn't tell me again. WHY are you there and who are you?”
Galusha's head was spinning dizzily, but he tried to make matters
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