to the other. The customer smiled, and picked up the dog. Why had n't Kline shown him at first? This was the one he wanted. The old man looked sheepish, and mumbled out some excuse. He had n't thought the gentleman wanted so young a puppy. And when the gentleman reminded him that was precisely what he had asked for when he came in, Kline's excuses were still more inarticulate.

"This is the one for me," said the customer.

Kline shook his head.

And now the old woman took a hand in the game. She grabbed her husband by the arm and shouted vociferously in broken German at him. She pointed to the empty rooms up-stairs. Kline was

unmoved.

The gentleman raised the price, holding up his fingers in emphasis. Kline shook his head. The gentleman put up another finger.

The old woman in a frenzy grabbed the damaged-dogs man by the whiskers and shook her fist under his nose. The heart of every person in the back-yard colony stood still, for we were all watching the drama that was being enacted in the damaged-dogs man's heart. Our interest was tense. Kline must keep his word; by the iron cross he had promised the dog to the little Marie. He could not sell it.

But he did!

With miserable reluctance, and keeping his eyes averted from the windows of the big apartment-house, Kline picked up the little creature, plucked off the blue ribbon, hung it on a nail outside the back door, and put the pom back into the box. We heard him promise to bring the dog up to the gentleman's house on Ninety-fifth Street early the next morning. The customer took the money out of his pocket and offered it to Kline, but while the old man had sold the dog in our presence, he could not bring himself to take the price of his treachery openly. The gentleman could pay him the next day when the dog was delivered. The old woman scowled blackly at Kline for having let ready money slip through his fingers, but said nothing, and showed the gentleman to his carriage on the avenue.

We all knew the portent of her black

looks, and waited for her to come back. But for once her wrath was too deep for words. She paid no attention to Kline, but drove the poms into the house and buttoned the door.

The damaged-dogs man sat down on an old tub in the middle of the yard, with his chin resting on his breast, which made his funny whiskers stand out more fiercely than ever. The big dogs whined in their kennels, and the English gentlemen scratched to get out. The baby pom curled up, a brown puff-ball, and went to sleep in his box, and the blue ribbon fluttered on the nail beside the back door; but the old man paid no attention. Thus he sat so long that we all thought he had gone to sleep. But presently his hand came up and touched the iron cross on his breast. He fondled it a bit, and looked down at it for many minutes. The symbol seemed to remind Kline of what he was—a man, a soldier, a gentleman, and particularly his own boss. No nagging shrew should come between him and his promise, even if the rooms were vacant and the dogs' board-bills were unpaid. Presently he lifted his head with stern resolution, got up from the tub, turned, and spoke a stern word of command.

The old woman appeared, looking at him wonderingly. With his finger he indicated to her to put the ribbon on the pup's neck. She did so, still wondering. Then he crossed to the Frenchman's fence, turned, and with an imperious gesture beckoned the old woman to him. She approached slowly, with the dog in her arms. Kline took it from her, held it high in the air, and with a grim smile of resolution turned it round and round like a street faker showing off his goods, while the whole back-yard colony watched. Then he called to the Frenchman, and, with a touching reminder of his promise to the little Marie's dead mother, passed the dog over the fence to the outstretched hands of Pierre.

Then the damaged-dogs man turned slowly, looked at the old woman, and pointed to the door; and without a word. she went back into the house!

We do not call Kline "the damageddogs man" any more: we call him "the iron-cross man."

HE rain lashed down, another gust

THE

of wind came whooping round a corner, and the motor-bicycle skidded skittishly right across the glistening road.

"Near shave that time, old soul!" observed Mr. Archibald Wade over his shoulder as the staggering machine started forward again with a flick of its tail.

The gentleman addressed, Mr. James Pryor, who for the last two hours had been enduring the acme of human discomfort upon the luggage-carrier, with his arms twined affectionately round his friend's waist, made no reply. Instead, he vacated his seat, and assumed a recumbent posture under an adjacent hedge. The motor-bicycle, unexpectedly lightened of half its burden, whizzed on its way, firing a salvo of exultant farewells from its exhaust.

In due course it returned, trundled by its owner, who addressed the prostrate James reprovingly:

"It was silly of you to fall off with white flannel bags on, my little friend. You are in a horrid mess.'

"You look a bit of a tike yourself," rejoined the injured James.

"True, true," acquiesced Archibald, placidly, as he looked down upon his mudsplashed legs. "The fact is, it is a mistake to try and ride forty miles on a mobike in tennis things. In any case, this putrid back tire has just gone flat. Do you remember what the last mile-stone said?"

"Popleigh, one mile," growled James. "That is splendid."

"What earthly use is Popleigh to us? We want to go to Tuckleford."

"Tuckleford is fifteen miles away. We can't get there, and we could n't play tennis if we did."

"I know, but-"

"But what?"

James hesitated and reddened.

"Well, if you must know, my best girl will probably be there."

"What, Dorothy? The Dorothy?" James, with the rain streaming down his face, nodded dismally. "Yes," he said; "that was why I suggested we should go."

Archibald considered.

"Take comfort," he said at length. "We will push this condemned sewingmachine"-he indicated the motor-bicycle -"to Popleigh. There we will obtain. food and clothing, and I will repair the tire. In the afternoon, if it clears up, I will convey you to Dorothy."

"How can we get food and clothing at Popleigh?" demanded the irritable James. "Have you ever been in the place in your life?"

"Never."

"Then why on earth-"

"Do you remember the Old Flick?" "You mean Flick Windrum of Trinity Hall?"

"The same."

"Yes. What about him? Became a dodger, did n't he? Curate in Kensington or something."

"Not now. I have just remembered that he wrote to me a year ago, saying that he had received a push-up-preferment. He now has a cure of souls in Popleigh. We will drop in on him and get our clothes dried. Then, hey for Dorothy!"

"Archie," observed James, not without admiration, "you are quite mad."

"I know," replied Archibald, complacently. "Come on."

THE motor-bicycle, now hand-propelled, drew up at the gate of Popleigh vicarage, which stood in a spacious garden, a riot of roses and honeysuckle, under the lee of an ancient Norman church. Simultaneously the summer storm passed, the clouds broke, and the hot July sun broke out hospitably.

Archibald wheeled the bicycle up to the front door and rang the bell. After

repeating the performance three times, he turned to his depressed companion.

"I wonder where the old sinner can be," he remarked.

"Nothing doing here," replied James, through chattering teeth. "Let's go and find the village pub."

"Peradventure," suggested Archibald, upon whose receptive soul the ecclesiastical atmosphere was already taking effect, "he is upon a journey or sleepeth. What?" He tried the handle of the door. "Locked," he announced.

"Let's go round to the back," said the practical James.

The procession, now steaming comfortably, moved off again. The back door was also locked. Upon the panel was pinned a fluttering scrap of paper that said, tout court, “Bak at 3."

"I wonder who wrote that," said James. "From the spelling," replied Archibald, "I should say it was the Flick; but as it is on the back door and not the front, I suspect it was the cook. Flick has taken the little creature out for a brisk country walk, depend upon it. Still, I know he would resent any attempt on our part to give him the go-by, so we must get in. Let us find a window."

The windows upon the ground floor were all closed, but one stood open above the porch. With the assistance of the faithful James, Archibald clambered up the trellis-work, and presently effected his burglarious purpose. A moment later he opened the front door with a flourish, and admitted his reluctant companion. There ensued a tour of inspection.

"Dining-room!" announced Archibald, opening a door. "We will lay the table. presently. Study-very snug! We will smoke there after lunch. Kitchen! Aha!

this is where we commandeer supplies! But first of all, you, my dear James, will go up-stairs and have a warm bath, taking care to wet your head first, while I raid the Old Flick's dressing-room. Run along, or you will contract a rheum."

James, who seldom argued with his eccentric friend in this mood, departed meekly up-stairs. Twenty minutes later, emerging greatly refreshed from the bathroom, draped in a towel, he was confronted by a saintly figure in impeccable clerical attire.

"Pax vobiscum!" chanted Archibald, in

a throaty tenor. "What do you think of my kit? It's a hazardous feat, buttoning one's collar at the back." He revolved slowly on his toes. "Pretty good fit, on the whole. I expected to find it rather big for me, but Flick appears to have shrunk. James, I am it! Let us go downstairs and find the harmonium and sing 'Greenland's Icy Mountains.'

"Dry up," advised James, "and tell me where I can get some clothes. Do you mean to say that I am to make a holy show of myself, too?"

"Unfortunately not," replied Archibald. "This is the only parsonical outfit that I can find; probably it is what the Flick wears on Sunday. It's a pity; if we could have found another, we might have gone on the music-hall stage together and called ourselves the Heavenly Twins. We could have worked up the ThirtyNine Articles into a cross-talk dialogue—"

"Do you mean to say there are no more clothes in the house?" demanded the exasperated James, who was in no mood to bandy irreverences.

"There is nothing in the dressing-room; but root about a bit in the larder or the hen-house, and you may find something. In the last extremity you can lunch in that bath-towel. Meanwhile I will lay the table."

Archibald bounded down-stairs, his coat-tails flying. The disconsolate James tried another door. This time he found himself in what was plainly the spare bedroom. The blinds were drawn; the bed was draped in a dust-sheet; the jug stood upon its head in the basin. Under a heap of clerical vestments in the wardrobe he discovered an old blue flannel suit, evidently a relic of the Flick's secular existence. With this he returned to the dressing-room, and, having helped himself to a cricket-shirt and a pair of socks, proceeded to invest himself in his borrowed plumes. They were a tight fit, for James was a large man.

"I wonder what that lunatic is doing down-stairs," he mused. "I hope he has made up the kitchen fire, so that we can dry our things. I can't face Dolly in this rig. Hallo! What's that?"

From the garden outside came the toot of a motor-horn, then a burring and popping right under the window, then silence.

Down-stairs, Archibald, depositing a

fine ham upon the dining-room table, tiptoed to the window and peeped through the curtain. Outside the front door stood another motor-cycle, this time with a side

Within the porch, through the latticework, he could descry two persons. One, a female, was disencumbering her head of a voluminous motor-veil; the other, a male, was ringing the front-door bell.

After a hurried glance at his own ensemble in the mirror over the mantelpiece, Archibald strode into the hall and opened the front door.

"Good morning," he said.

The male caller returned the greeting. He was a slightly built and rather romantic-looking young man, with dark and roving eyes. Archibald's first impression of him was that his hair required cutting.

"I trust you will pardon me," he said, "for coming to the door myself; but"-a new inspiration came upon him as he spoke "my servant is up-stairs."

"Are you the incumbent of this parish?" inquired the young man in a rather hectoring voice.

"I am his locum-tenens," replied Archibald, blandly. "Won't you come in?"

All this while the girl in the motor-veil had stood silent, with her large, blue eyes fixed rather apprehensively upon Archibald. She had a baby face and an abundance of fair hair. Archibald mentally diagnosed her as an impressionable infant, without sufficient knowledge or discrimination to be aware that one must never be seen in public with a young man whose hair requires cutting.

He ushered his visitors into the study. Even as he crossed the hall he was aware of the agitated and inquiring countenance of James, suspended in mid-air, like Mohammed's coffin, over the banisters of the upper landing.

"And now," he inquired, taking up his rôle with great gusto, as the couple seated themselves upon the sofa, "what can I do for you this lovely summer day?"

He leaned back in the Flick's swingchair, smiling paternally. He was picking up the clerical manner very readily, he thought. That bit about the summer day was capital.

The young man with the long hair gave a staccato cough.

"We desire," he said, "that you should marry us.”

"Quite so," replied Archibald, aware of a slight shortness of breath. "Er-to each other, I presume?"

The young man, after a brief stare, nodded his head.

"And when would you like the ceremony to take place?" continued Archibald, instinctively playing for time. "At once," said the young man. Archibald turned inquiringly to the girl.

"Is that also your wish?" he asked, smiling.

The girl, crimson to the collar of her blouse, whispered: "Yes, please."

UP-STAIRS, pandemonium.

"I tell you it's little Dolly Venner!" reiterated the distracted James, upon whose toilet Archibald had broken in with the news of the emergency. "My girl! And she's doing a bolt with that longhaired bounder!"

"What is his name?"

"Lionel Gillibrand or something. don't know much about him, but he has been hanging round her ever since she and I had a row last November."

"Oh, you had a row, had you?" said Archibald, becoming severely judicial. "What was it about?"

are.

"I've no notion. You know what girls

We were half engaged, but only half; and I suppose I took things too much for granted. Anyhow, we had a bit of a turn-up, and she bunged me out for good and all. I have n't seen her since, and being down here with you, and knowing she would probably be at the tennis party, I had meant to go over to Tuckleford today and try to get her to make it up. And now she 's eloping with a fellow like an Angora goat!"

The unhappy young man raised clenched hands to heaven.

"Nothing could be more fortunate," remarked Archibald, calmly. "Your jacket will go under the arms if you do that, old

son.

"Fortunate? What do you mean?"

"I purpose," announced Archibald, with great cheerfulness, "to extricate your little friend from her present predicament."

"Predicament? She's doing it of her own free will.”

"She may have started out of her own free will, but she 's scared to death now. This marriage shall not take place.'

"What are you going to do? Refuse to marry them?" inquired James, with gloomy sarcasm.

"No, I don't think I shall refuse. If I do, they will only go to some one else, which would be a pity, because some one else might marry them, which I, not being a parson, can't do in any circumstances. Ergo, she is safest in my hands."

"That's true," admitted James, more hopefully. "What are you going to do?" "I have n't the faintest notion," replied Archibald, serenely, "but I have no doubt that something will occur to me. For the present I shall temporize. It won't do to put that little person's back up. I should say she was the sort who would cut off her nose to spite her face."

"She is," agreed James, with feeling. "Meanwhile," continued Archibald, "I have invited them to luncheon. I shall probably think of something during the meal. I'm afraid I can't ask you to join us-in the circumstances. But you shall come in and wait."

"Wait?" gasped the horrified James. "Wait?"

"Yes. It would add a spice of excitement to the proceedings. It is most unlikely that she will as much as look at you, much less recognize you: she is far too agitated to notice anything. Still, she might; and that is where the excitement would come in. You need n't play about the room. Just come in to clear away, and so on. I shall disguise you a little. There is a pair of blue spectacles lying on the study table,- Flick must have taken to glasses,-you can wear them. You might also wear a handkerchief tied round your jaw, and I'll explain that you have got toothache or leprosy or something."

"How long is this tomfool entertainment to go on?" inquired James, bitterly. "Till I think of something better, or until the Old Flick turns up. Well, come along when you 're ready.'

Leaving his indignant friend to splutter out impotent refusals, the irresponsible Archibald descended the stairs in a restrained ecstasy of joyous anticipation, and entered the study with a benevolent smile. The lovers were holding hands upon the sofa.

"Now for luncheon," he said genially. "Lenten fare, I fear, but a warm welcome goes with it."

"This is not Lent," Mr. Gillibrand pointed out. He was a precise young man, besides having long hair.

"Some of us," said Archibald, gently, "keep Lent all the year round, Mr. Gillibrand."

Luncheon, considering the disasters which might have occurred, passed off surprisingly well. The distrait Dorothy seldom lifted her eyes from her plate, and entirely failed to pierce the disguise or even note the presence of her late beloved. James took courage. Held bound by a melancholy fascination, he remained constantly in the room, handing bread and ham and stone ginger, but refraining from speech.

"Had you a pleasant ride, Mr. Gillibrand?" asked Archibald.

"We had a fairly swift one, thanks," replied Mr. Gillibrand, languidly. "I wish I had had my car, though, instead of a hired motor-cycle. Still, we were doing thirty-five or forty through that last tenmile limit, I should think."

"Leo is a dreadfully reckless driver," said Dorothy, with timid admiration. "I was terrified.”

She smiled in a half-hypnotized fashion at the intrepid Leo, who replied with a proprietary ogle. Archibald disliked him more and more. He wore short side-whiskers, after the ultra-chic mode of the moment, together with a peculiar tie of art silk which was fastened in a large bow, after going twice round his neck and crossing at the back. He looked like what he was, an unsuccessful compromise between Chelsea and Montmartre.

"Forty miles an hour!" exclaimed Archibald, shaking a playful finger. "What will my parishioners say? I hope you did not run over any of them."

"We got two or three ducklings outside a cottage about a mile from here," replied the daredevil Gillibrand, nonchalantly. "A bumpkin of a policeman saw us, and had the impudence to blow his whistle."

"You ought to have stopped, Leo," said Dorothy.

Mr. Gillibrand replied with a languishing smile, which brought a blush to Dorothy's cheek and nearly converted a chocolate "shape," which James was handing