unsympathetic crowd uttered a faint, ironical cheer.

"This is the second time to-night I have spoken to you," said the
constable. "Now, as you have been behaving most strangely and
attracting a crowd, I'll just trouble you for your name and address,"
and the constable unfolded an uncomfortable-looking pocket-book, bound
in an ominous-looking black case, produced the stump of a pencil and
prepared to take notes. "Now then, out with it, what's your name?"

"Gold," faltered the Lord Mayor, fumbling vainly for a visiting card,
which he was unable to find.

The stolid constable misunderstood the action. "No, you don't bribe
me," said the constable loftily.

"I was not attempting to," objected the Lord Mayor.

"Well, what's your name, then?"

"Gold," repeated the Lord Mayor.

"Oh, I see," muttered the constable; "what else?"

"Simon Gold."

"What else?" pursued the remorseless officer of the law.

"Sir Simon Gold," groaned the helpless Lord Mayor.

"What address?"

"The Mansion House."

"Here, I don't want none of your jokes," vouchsafed the constable
sternly; "this is no joking matter, as you will find out when you're
charged afore the magistrate."

The worthy Sir Simon's plump cheeks flushed red with anger at the bare
mention of such an indignity. "How dare you suggest such a thing to
me?" spluttered Sir Simon. "Do you know who I am? I am the Lord Mayor
of London."

This remark was greeted with a loud cheer from the rapidly gathering
crowd.

The constable smiled a maddening smile.

"A likely tale," observed the constable. "Why, I was present keeping
the crowd off when his Worship, the Lord Mayor of London, opened his
Home to-day; he returned hours ago; and I think myself it's some sort
of Home as you have got to return to, and I don't leave you until I
find out which Home it is."

Whether the mention of the word Home suggested sudden possibilities to
the Writer, or whether, like Ulysses of old, he longed so ardently for
a return to that blissful abode that he even stooped to emulate the
sort of stratagem Ulysses might have adopted in similar circumstances
will never be known. Yet the fact remains that the Writer turned the
fortunes of war for the time being.

He drew the constable quickly upon one side and spoke rapidly and
earnestly to him for some moments. At the end of these whispered
explanations the constable closed his pocket-book with a snap, and
pointed across the way in the dire