d.

"Medicine?"

"Yes."

"Hum," said Brownson, importantly. "I will ask him to kindly take
charge--"

"I should think so," broke in Ellison, cheerfully, "seeing that it's my
own property. I lost baggage-check No. 18329, from Cleveland to New
York, the night of my arrival in town, and somewhere in this very
neighborhood. The next morning I went to the Grand Central to prove my
ownership, but the trunk had been claimed and carried away."

"You are aware, Dr. Ellison," said Brownson, "that this trunk
contains--well, we all know what."

"Oh, do we!" retorted Ellison, smartly. "Just stand back there." He
took a key from his pocket and unlocked the trunk. An irresistible
curiosity drew us forward again. Ellison seized the wrapping and jerked
it forcibly apart. I turned my eyes away, and Mary screamed outright.

"Did you never see an anatomical manikin before?" asked Ellison,
scornfully. "Made out of papier-mache, you know, and used for
demonstrations in physiology before college classes. They used to come
from Paris, but they're making them in Cleveland now, and better than
the French ones. I tell you I'm mighty glad to get my 'old man' back;
he's just out of the shop and cost me a hundred-dollar bill."

Mr. Detective Brownson walked over to the trunk, gazed intently at the
manikin, and gingerly poked it once or twice in the ribs. He turned red
and swallowed at something in his throat.

"So you wish to make a charge against these gentlemen?" he asked, with
almost a note of appeal in his voice.

"Not I," answered Ellison, cheerfully. "It's all between friends, and
they can settle the matter with me over a petit souper at Delmonico's.
Good-day, officer."

How quickly the echoes of the strenuous life die away. After the
storm and stress of those dreadful four days one would suppose that
peace at any price were the one thing worth while. And for a month or
more we were quite content with the humdrum of ordinary existence. And
then just because a game of patience would not make--

X

The Upset Apple-Cart

Indiman was playing solitaire and I was idly looking on. It so happened
that an important card, the ace of hearts, was buried, and Indiman had
tried every legitimate means to get it out without success.

"You can't do that," I said, decidedly, as Indiman was about to make a
move. He looked up, caught my eye fixed upon the game, and colored
deeply. Then he frowned and swept the cards into a disorganize