town.

The man in the seat behind was speaking to him. He came out of his
reverie with a glad rush. It was so unusual for any one to take the
initiative that he was more than ready to respond.

"I see the Giants lost again yesterday," said the volunteer
conversationalist.

"Yes. Six to four," said our hero, brightly, turning in his seat. He
always read the baseball news. He could tell you the batting average
of every player in the big leagues for ten years back.

"Lot of bone-heads," said the other sourly. At first glance our friend
thought he looked like an actor and his heart sank. But perhaps he
might be a travelling salesman. He liked them. In either event, the
stranger's estimate of the New York ball team pleased him. He rejoiced
in every defeat it sustained, particularly at the hands of the
Chicagos.

"Not in it with the Cubs," he announced, blitheness in his manner.
Here was a man after his own heart.

But the stranger glared at him. "The Cubs?" he said, his voice
hardening, his manner turning aggressive.

"They make the Giants look like two-spots," went on our friend,
recklessly.

The stranger looked him over pityingly and then ended the conversation
by deliberately hiding himself behind his newspaper. Our hero opened
his lips to add further comment, but something in the way the paper
crackled caused him to close them and turn back to his bitter survey
of the Hudson. And the confounded fellow had invited his confidence,
too!

He got down at Tarrytown and started up the hill. The station-master
pointed him out to a friend.

"That's--er--What's-His-Name--Nellie Duluth's husband."

"That guy?"

"She keeps him up here in a cottage to take care of the baby. Away
from the temptations of the city," said the agent, with a broad wink.

"I didn't know she was married," said his friend, who lived in
Yonkers.

"Well, she is."

Mr.--(I declare, his name escapes me, so I will call him by his
Christian name, Harvey)--Harvey, utterly oblivious to the pitying
scrutiny of the two men, moved slowly up the road, homeward bound. He
stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to light a "Sweet Cap," threw
back his unimposing shoulders, and accelerated his gait a trifle in
deference to his position as the master of a celebrity.

It was his habit to take a rather roundabout way up to the little
cottage on the hill. The route led him past a certain drug store and
a grocer's where he was on speaking terms with the clerks