In the Quarter. Chambers Robert William

a square of pasteboard. ``My card,'' he said, offering one to Gethryn, who bowed and fumbled in his pockets. As usual, his card-case was in another coat.

      ``I'm sorry I have none,'' he said at length, ``but my name is Reginald Gethryn, and I shall give myself the pleasure of calling to thank you for – ''

      ``For nothing,'' laughed the other, ``excepting for the sketch, which you may have when you come to see me.''

      ``Thanks, and au revoir,'' glancing at the card. ``Au revoir, Mr Bulfinch.''

      He was giving the signal to the cabby when his new acquaintance stopped him.

      ``You're quite sure – you – er – don't know any newspapermen?''

      ``Quite.''

      ``All right – all right – and – er – just don't mention about my having a flask, if you do meet any of them. I – er – keep it for others. I don't drink.''

      ``Certainly not,'' began Gethryn, but Mr T. Hoppley Bulfinch had seized his campstool and trotted away across the square.

      Gethryn leaned into the cab.

      ``Will you give me your address?'' he asked gently.

      ``Rue Monsieur le Prince – 430 – '' she whispered. ``Do you know where it is?''

      ``Yes,'' said Gethryn. It was his own number.

      ``Rue Monsieur le Prince 430'', he repeated to the driver, and stepping in, softly shut the door.

      Four

      Rain was falling steadily. The sparrows huddled under the eaves, or hopped disconsolately along the windowsills, uttering short, ill-tempered chirps. The wind was rising, blowing in quick, sharp gusts and sweeping the forest of rain spears, rank upon rank, in mad dashes against the glass-roofed studio.

      Gethryn, curled up in a corner of his sofa, listlessly watched the showers of pink and white blossoms which whirled and eddied down from the rocking chestnuts, falling into the windy court in little heaps. One or two stiff-legged flies crawled rheumatically along the window glass, only to fall on their backs and lie there buzzing.

      The two bull pups had silently watched the antics of these maudlin creatures, but their interest changed to indignation when one sodden insect attempted a final ascent and fell noisily upon the floor under their very noses. Then they rose as one dog and leaped madly upon the intruder, or meant to; but being pups, and uncertain in their estimation of distances, they brought up with startled yelps against the wall. Gethryn took them in his arms, where they found consolation in chewing the buttons off his coat. The parrot had driven the raven nearly crazy by turning upside down and staring at him for fifteen minutes of insulting silence. Mrs Gummidge was engaged in a matronly and sedate toilet, interrupting herself now and then to bestow a critical glance upon the parrot. She heartily approved of his attitude toward the raven, and although the old cynic cared nothing for Mrs Gummidge's opinion, he found a sour satisfaction in warning her of her enemy's hostile intentions. This he always did with a croak, causing Mrs Gummidge to look up just in time, and the raven to hop back disconcerted.

      The rain beat a constant tattoo on the roof, and this, mingling with the drowsy purr of the cat, who was now marching to and fro with tail erect in front of Gethryn, exercised a soothing influence, and presently a snore so shocked the parrot that he felt obliged to relieve his mind by a series of intricate gymnastics upon his perch.

      Gethryn was roused by a violent hammering on his door. The room had grown dark, and night had come on while he slept.

      ``All right – coming,'' he shouted, groping his way across the room. Slipping the bolt, he opened the door and looked out, but could see nothing in the dark hallway. Then he felt himself seized and hugged and dragged back into his studio, where he was treated to a heavy slap on the shoulder. Then someone struck a match and presently, by the light of a candle, he saw Clifford and Elliott, and farther back in the shade another form which he thought he knew.

      Clifford began, ``Here you are! We thought you were dead – killed through my infernal fooling.'' He turned very red, and stammered, ``Tell him, Elliott.''

      ``Why, you see,'' said Elliott, ``we've been hunting for you high and low since the fight yesterday afternoon. Clifford was nearly crazy. He said it was his fault. We went to the Morgue and then to the hospitals, and finally to the police – '' A knock interrupted him, and a policeman appeared at the door.

      Clifford looked sheepish.

      ``The young gentleman who is missing – this is his room?'' inquired the policeman.

      ``Oh, he's found – he's all right,'' said Clifford, hurriedly. The officer stared.

      ``Here he is,'' said Elliott, pointing to Rex.

      The man transferred his stare to Gethryn, but did not offer to move.

      ``I am the supposed deceased,'' laughed Rex, with a little bow.

      ``But how am I to know?'' said the officer.

      ``Why, here I am.''

      ``But,'' said the man, suspiciously, ``I want to know how I am to know?''

      ``Nonsense,'' said Elliott, laughing.

      ``But, Monsieur,'' expostulated the officer, politely.

      ``This is Reginald Gethryn, artist, I tell you!''

      The policeman shrugged his shoulders. He was noncommittal and very polite.

      ``Messieurs,'' he said, ``my orders are to lock up this room.''

      ``But it's my room, I can't spare my room,'' laughed Gethryn. ``From whom did you take your orders?''

      ``From Monsieur the Prefect of the Seine.''

      ``Oh, it is all right, then,'' said Gethryn. ``Take a seat.''

      He went to his desk, wrote a hasty note, and then called the man. ``Read that, if you please, Monsieur Sergeant de Ville.''

      The man's eyes grew round. ``Certainly, Monsieur, I will take the note to the Prefect,'' he said; ``Monsieur will pardon the intrusion.''

      ``Don't mention it,'' said Rex, smiling, and slipped a franc into his big red fist. The officer pocketed it with a demure ``Merci, Monsieur,'' and presently the clank of his bayonet died away on the stairs.

      ``Well,'' said Elliott, ``you're found.'' Clifford was beginning again with self-reproaches and self-abasement, but Rex broke in: ``You fellows are awfully good – I do assure you I appreciate it. But I wasn't in any more danger than the rest of you. What about Thaxton and the Colossus and Carleton?'' He grew anxious as he named them.

      ``We all got off with no trouble at all, only we missed you – and then the troops fired, and they chased us over the bridge and scattered us in the Quarter, and we all drifted one by one into the Café des Écoles. And then you didn't come, and we waited till after dinner, and finally came here to find your door locked – ''

      ``Oh!'' burst out Clifford, ``I tell you, Rex – damn it! I will express my feelings!''

      ``No, you won't,'' said Rex; ``drop 'em, old boy, don't express 'em. Here we are – that's enough, isn't it, Shakespeare?''

      The bird had climbed to Gethryn's shoulder and was cocking his eye fondly at Clifford. They were dear friends. Once he had walked up Clifford's arm and had grabbed him by the ear, for which Clifford, more in sorrow than in anger, soaked him in cold water. Since that, their mutual understanding had been perfect.

      ``Where are you going to, you old fiend?'' said Clifford, tickling the parrot's throat.

      ``Hell!'' shrieked the bird.

      ``Good Heavens! I never taught him that,'' said Gethryn.

      Clifford smiled, without committing himself.

      ``But where were you, Rex?'' asked Elliott.

      Rex flushed. ``Hullo,'' cried Clifford, ``here's Reginald blushing. If I didn't know him better I'd swear there's a woman in it.'' The dark figure at the end of the room rose and walked swiftly over, and Rex saw that it was Braith, as he had supposed.

      ``I swear I forgot him,'' laughed Elliott. ``What