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During these meditations several articles of feminine apparel had come and gone under the hammer. The crowd had decreased somewhat and his position now commanded a clear view of the auctioneer’s platform, and he realized that the fierce light of the arc lamps beat down upon as charming a costume as he had seen for many a day. All of corn-flower blue it was, a chiffon gown, a big chiffon muff and a plumed hat. Oh! if he had been allowed to do such shopping for Mary! how quickly he would have entered into the lists of bidders! Mary’s eyes were just that heavenly shade of blue, but Mary’s pride was as great as her poverty, and the time when he could shower his now useless wealth upon her was not yet. And then his loyal memory told him that Edith was blue-eyed like all the Sedyards and he knew that his sister’s Christmas gifts stood before him. He failed, however, to discern in the bland presence of the lay figure, upon which they were disposed to such advantage, the companion of one of the most varied adventures in his long career.

The chiffon finery was rather too much for the Fourteenth Street audience. The bidding languished. The auctioneer’s pleadings fell upon deaf ears. In vain his assistant, a deft-fingered man with a beard, twirled the waxen-faced figure to show the “semi-princesse back” and the “near-Empire front.” Corn-blue chiffon and panne velvet are not much worn in Fourteenth Street. The auctioneer grew desperate. “Twenty-five dollars,” he repeated with such scorn that the timid woman who had made the bid wished herself at home and in bed. ” Twenty-five dollars!”

“Throw in the girl, why don’t you?” suggested a facetious youth, chiefly remarkable for a nose, a necktie and a diamond ring. “She’s a peach all right, all right. She’s got a smile that won’t come off.”

“All right, I’ll throw her in,” cried the desperate auctioneer. “What am I bid for this here afternoon costume complete with lady.”

“Twenty-seven fifty,” said a woman whom three years of banting would still have left too fat to get into it.

“Twenty-eight,” whispered the first bidder.

“Thirty,” said John Sedyard.

There was some other desultory bidding but in a few moments Sedyard found himself minus fifty-four dollars and plus a chiffon gown and muff, a hat all drooping plumes and a graceful female form, golden-haired, bewitching, with a smile sweetly blended of surprise, incipient idiocy and allure.

“She’s a queen all right, all right,” the sophisticated youth cheered him. “Git onto them lovely wax-like hands. Say, you know honest, on the level, she’s worth the whole price of admission.”

John, still chaperoned by this sagacious and helpful youth, made his way to the clerk’s desk and proceeded to give his name and address and request that his purchases should be delivered in the morning.

“Deliver nothin’,” said the clerk pleasantly. “Do you suppose we’d ‘a let you have the goods at that price if we could ‘a stored ’em overnight? Our lease is up,” he continued consulting his Ingersoll watch, “in just fifteen minutes. In a quarter of an hour we hand over the keys and what’s left of the fixtures to the landlord. He’s let the store for to-morrow to a Christmas-tree ornaments merchant.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to get an expressman. Where is the nearest, do you know?”

“Expressman!” exclaimed the sharp youth. “Well, I guess the nearest would be about Three Hundred and Fifty-second Street and then he’d have a load and a jag. No, sir, it’s the faithful cab for yours. There’s a row of cabs just on the edge of the square. I could go over and get you a hansom.”

“Thank you,” said John, “I wish you would.” But a glance at his languishing companion made him add, “I guess you had better make it a four-wheeler. Hansom-riding would be pretty cold for a lady without a coat.”