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Observing these evidences of adjacent life and merry-makings Mr. Leary cogitated. Did he dare intrude upon the festivities aloft there? And if he did so dare would he enter cavortingly, trippingly, with intent to deceive the assembled company into the assumption that he had come to their gathering in costume; or would he throw himself upon their charity and making open confession of his predicament seek to enlist the friendly offices of some kindly soul in extricating him from it?

While he canvassed the two propositions tentatively he heard the thud of footsteps descending the stairs from the dance hall, and governed by an uncontrollable impulse he leaped for concealment behind a pile of building material that was stacked handily upon the sidewalk almost at his elbow. He might possibly have driven himself to face a multitude indoors, but somehow could not, just naturally could not, in his present apparel, face one stranger outdoors–or at least not until he had opportunity to appraise the stranger.

It was a man who emerged from the hallway entrance; a stockily built man wearing his hat well over one ear and with his ulster opened and flung back exposing a broad chest to the wintry air. He was whistling a sprightly air.

Just as this individual came opposite the lumber pile the first dedicatory sneeze of a whole subsequent series of sneezes which had been burgeoning somewhere in the top of Mr. Leary’s head, and which that unhappy gentleman had been mechanically endeavouring to suppress, burst from captivity with a vast moist report. At the explosion the passer-by spun about and his whistle expired in a snort of angered surprise as the bared head of Mr. Leary appeared above the topmost board of the pile, and Mr. Leary’s abashed face looked into his.

“Say,” he demanded, “wotcher meanin’, hidin’ there and snortin’ in a guy’s ear?”

His manner was truculent; indeed, verged almost upon the menacing. Evidently the shock had adversely affected his temper, to the point where he might make personal issues out of unavoidable trifles. Instinctively Mr. Leary felt that the situation which had arisen called for diplomacy of the very highest order. He cleared his throat before replying.

“Good evening,” he began, in what he vainly undertook to make a casual tone of voice. “I beg your pardon–the sneeze–ahem–occurred when I wasn’t expecting it. Ahem–I wonder if you would do me a favour?”

“I would not! Come snortin’ in a guy’s ear that-a-way and then askin’ him would he do you a favour: You got a crust for fair!” Here, though, a natural curiosity triumphed over the rising tides of indignation. “Wot favour do you want, anyway?” he inquired shortly.

“Would you–would you–I wonder if you would be willing to sell me that overcoat you’re wearing?”

“I would not!”

“You see, the fact of the matter is I happened to be needing an overcoat very badly at the moment,” pressed Mr. Leary. “I was hoping that you might be induced to name a price for yours.”

“I would not! M. J. Cassidy wears M. J. Cassidy’s clothes, and nobody else wears ’em, believe me! Wot’s happened to your own coat?”

“I lost it–I mean it was stolen.”

“Stole?”

“Yes, a robber with a revolver held me up a few minutes ago just over here in the next cross street and he took my coat away.”

“Huh! Well, did you lose your hat the same way?”

“Yes–that is to say, no. I lost my hat running.”

“Oh, you run, hey? Well, you look to me like a guy wot would run. Well, did he take your clothes, too? Is that why you’re squattin’ behind them timbers?” The inquisitive one took a step nearer.

“No–oh, no! I’m still wearing my–my–the costume I was wearing,” answered Mr. Leary, apprehensively wedging his way still farther back between the stack of boards and the wall behind. “But you see—-“

“Well then, barrin’ the fact that you ain’t got no hat, ain’t you jest as well off without no overcoat now as I’d be if I fell for any hard-luck spiel from you and let you have mine?”