The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

favorite jool,” said the man with the revolver. “Clip ’em out, Bill.”

      “Don’t cut the shirt,” urged Monty. “I’m going to a little supper and I don’t like the idea of a punctured shirt-front.”

      “I’ll be as careful as I kin, mister. There, I guess dat’s all. Shall I call a cab for you, sir?”

      “No, thank you, I think I’ll walk.”

      “Well, just walk south a hundred steps without lookin’ ’round er yellin’ and you kin save your skin. I guess you know what I mean, pardner.”

      “I’m sure I do. Good-night.”

      “Good-night,” came in chuckles from the two hold-up men. But Brewster hesitated, a sharp thought penetrating his mind.

      “By gad!” he exclaimed, “you chaps are very careless. Do you know you’ve missed a roll of three hundred dollars in this overcoat pocket?” The men gasped and the spasmodic oaths that came from them were born of incredulity. It was plain that they doubted their ears.

      “Say it ag’in,” muttered Bill, in bewildered tones.

      “He’s stringin’ us, Bill,” said the other.

      “Sure,” growled Bill. “It’s a nice way to treat us, mister. Move along now and don’t turn ’round.”

      “Well, you’re a couple of nice highwaymen,” cried Monty in disgust.

      “Sh—not so loud.”

      “That is no way to attend to business. Do you expect me to go down in my pocket and hand you the goods on a silver tray?”

      “Keep your hands up! You don’t woik dat game on me. You got a gun there.”

      “No, I haven’t. This is on the level. You over-looked a roll of bills in your haste and I’m not the sort of fellow to see an earnest endeavorer get the worst of it. My hands are up. See for yourself if I’m not telling you the truth.”

      “What kind of game is dis?” growled Bill, dazed and bewildered. “I’m blowed if I know w’at to t’ink o’ you,” cried he in honest amazement. “You don’t act drunk, and you ain’t crazy, but there’s somethin’ wrong wid you. Are you givin’ it to us straight about de wad?”

      “You can find out easily.”

      “Well, I hate to do it, boss, but I guess we’ll just take de overcoat and all. It looks like a trick and we takes no chances. Off wid de coat.”

      Monty’s coat came off in a jiffy and he stood shivering before the dumfounded robbers.

      “We’ll leave de coat at de next corner, pardner. It’s cold and you need it more’n we do. You’re de limit, you are. So long. Walk right straight ahead and don’t yell.”

      Brewster found his coat a few minutes later, and went whistling away into the night. The roll of bills was gone.

      CHAPTER XII

      CHRISTMAS DESPAIR

      Brewster made a good story of the “hold-up” at the club, but he did not relate all the details. One of the listeners was a new public commissioner who was aggressive in his efforts at reform. Accordingly Brewster was summoned to headquarters the next morning for the purpose of looking over the “suspects” that had been brought in. Almost the first man that he espied was a rough-looking fellow whose identity could not be mistaken. It was Bill.

      “Hello, Bill,” called Monty, gaily. Bill ground his teeth for a second, but his eyes had such an appeal in them that Monty relented.

      “You know this fellow, Mr. Brewster?” demanded the captain, quickly. Bill looked utterly helpless.

      “Know Bill?” questioned Monty in surprise. “Of course I do, Captain.”

      “He was picked up late last night and detained, because he would give no account of his actions.”

      “Was it as bad as that, Bill?” asked Brewster, with a smile. Bill mumbled something and assumed a look of defiance. Monty’s attitude puzzled him sorely. He hardly breathed for an instant, and gulped perceptibly.

      “Pass Bill, Captain. He was with me last night just before my money was taken, and he couldn’t possibly have robbed me without my knowledge. Wait for me outside, Bill. I want to talk to you. I’m quite sure neither of the thieves is here, Captain,” concluded Brewster, after Bill had obeyed the order to step out of the line.

      Outside the door the puzzled crook met Brewster, who shook him warmly by the hand.

      “You’re a peach,” whispered Bill, gratefully “What did you do it for, mister?”

      “Because you were kind enough not to cut my shirt.”

      “Say, you’re all right, that’s what. Would you mind havin’ a drink with me? It’s your money, but the drink won’t be any the worse for that. We blowed most of it already, but here’s what’s left.” Bill handed Monty a roll of bills.

      “I’d a kept it if you’d made a fight,” he continued, “but it ain’t square to keep it now.”

      Brewster refused the money, but took back his watch.

      “Keep it, Bill,” he said, “you need it more than I do. It’s enough to set you up in some other trade. Why not try it?”

      “I will try, boss,” and Bill was so profuse in his thanks that Monty had difficulty in getting away; As he climbed into a cab he heard Bill say, “I will try, boss, and say, if ever I can do anything for you jes’ put me nex’. I’m nex’ you all de time.”

      He gave the driver the name of his club, but as he was passing the Waldorf he remembered that he had several things to say to Mrs. Dan. The order was changed, and a few moments later he was received in Mrs. Dan’s very special den. She wore something soft and graceful in lavender, something that was light and wavy and evanescent, and made you watch its changing shadows. Monty looked down at her with the feeling that she made a very effective picture.

      “You are looking pretty fit this morning, my lady,” he said by way of preamble. “How well everything plays up to you.”

      “And you are unusually courtly, Monty,” she smiled. “Has the world treated you so generously of late?”

      “It is treating me generously enough just now to make up for anything,” and he looked at her. “Do you know, Mrs. Dan, that it is borne in upon me now and then that there are things that are quite worth while?”

      “Oh, if you come to that,” she answered, lightly, “everything is worth while. For you, Monty, life is certainly not slow. You can dominate; you can make things go your way. Aren’t they going your way now, Monty”—this more seriously—”What’s wrong? Is the pace too fast?”

      His mood increased upon him with her sympathy. “Oh, no,” he said, “it isn’t that. You are good—and I’m a selfish beast. Things are perverse and people are desperately obstinate sometimes. And here I am taking it out on you. You are not perverse. You are not obstinate. You are a ripper, Mrs. Dan, and you are going to help me out in more ways than one.”

      “Well, to pay for all these gallantries, Monty, I ought to do much. I’m your friend through thick and thin. You have only to command me.”

      “It was precisely to get your help that I came in. I’m tired of those confounded dinners. You know yourself that they are all alike—the same people, the same flowers, the same things to eat, and the same inane twaddle in the shape of talk. Who cares about them anyway?”

      “Well, I like that,” she interrupted. “After all the thought I put into those dinners, after all the variety I so carefully secured! My dear boy, you are frightfully ungrateful.”

      “Oh, you know what I mean. And you know quite as well as I do that it is perfectly