ack of compassion, hopped about,
_tee-heeing_ loudly--and straightening out any number of wrinkles. "Oh,
ain't he a sight!" she chortled. She had entirely given over her
threatening.

Gwendolyn now felt secure enough. But she did not feel like laughing.
She was sober to the point of pitying. For though he looked ridiculous,
he was so absolutely helpless, so utterly unhappy.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" he exclaimed as he came on--hand over hand, legs
held together, and swaying from side to side rhythmically, like the
pendulum of the metronome. "What shall I do! What shall I do!"

"Need any sharpening?" called out the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, brandishing
the curved knife. "Is there something wrong?"

"Wrong!" echoed the Policeman dolefully. "I should say so! Oh, _dear!_
Oh, dear!" And still weeping copiously, so that his forehead glistened
with his tears, he plodded across the border of the Face-Shop.

It was then that Gwendolyn recalled under what circumstances she had
seen him last. Only two or three days before, when bound homeward in the
limousine, she had spied him loitering beside the walled walk. "What
makes his club shine so?" she had asked Jane, whispering. "Eh?"
whispered Jane in return; "what else than _blood?_" The wind was blowing
as the automobile swept past him: The breeze lifted the tail of his
belted coat. And for one terrifying instant Gwendolyn caught a glimpse
of steel!

"And if he don't mean harm to anybody," Jane had added when Gwendolyn
turned scared eyes to her, "why does he carry a _pistol?_"

But there was no need to fear a weapon now. The falling away of his
coat-tails had uncovered his trouser-pockets. And as he halted,
Gwendolyn saw that his revolver was gone, his pistol-pocket empty.

She took a timid step toward him. "How do you do, Mr. Officer," she
said. "Can't you let your feet come down? Then you'd be on your back,
and you could get up the right way."

Up came his face between his coat-tails. He stared at her with his new
black eye--with the other one, too. (She noted that it was blue.) "But I
_am_ up the right way," he answered, "Oh, no! It isn't that! It isn't
that!" His hands were encased in white cotton gloves. He rocked himself
from one to the other.

"No, it _isn't_ that," agreed the little old gentleman; "but I firmly
believe that, you'd feel better if you'd order another eye."

"Another eye!" said the Policeman, bitterly. "Would another eye help me
to find him?"

"Oh, I see