rable
appearance--the breeches and his face. For directly under the hat, which
was worn askew, was one round, greenish eye, set at the upper end of a
nose that was like a triangle of leather. The eye held the geographical
center of the whole countenance, this because its owner kept his head
tipped, precisely as if he had a stiff neck. Under the leathery nose,
which seemed to have been cut from the same welt as the watchchain, was
a drooping, palish mustache, hiding a mouth that had lost too many
teeth. As for the other eye, it was brushed aside under the band of the
hat.

"Gee!" breathed Johnnie. Wearing fur trousers instead of a fur collar,
here, without doubt, was a new kind of millionaire!

The latter took a cigar out of an upper vest pocket and worried one end
of it with a tooth. "It's half-pas' seven, sonny," he said.

Johnnie backed another step. Half-past seven gave him a swift vision of
the flat--Grandpa asleep, Barber pacing the splintery floor in a rage,
Cis weeping at the window, Mrs. Kukor waddling about, talking with
tongue and hands. He had no mind to be made a part of that picture. He
resolved to answer no questions, while with a dexterous movement he
slipped Aladdin into his shirt and got ready to run.

The other now sat down, scratched a match nonchalantly on a step, and
let the light shine into that single green eye as he set an end of the
cigar afire; after which he proceeded to blow smoke through his nose in
a masterly fashion, following up that feat with a series of perfect
smoke rings.

Still on his guard, Johnnie studied the smoker. The big gray hat came to
a peak--like the highest corner of the empty palace. Below the hairy
trousers the lower parts of a pair of black boots shone so brightly that
they carried reflections even at that late hour. The boots were tapered
off by spurs.

What was there about this man that made him seem somehow familiar?
Johnnie puzzled over it. And decided at last, correctly enough, as it
turned out, that the explanation lay in those shaggy trousers.

He was not afraid to make an inquiry. "Mister," he began politely,
"where did y' buy your pants?"

The effect of this question was startling. The man pushed back his hat,
threw up his head, rescued the burning cigar, then emitted an almost
catlike yowl. For some minutes several people had been watching him from
a respectful distance. Now, hearing the yowl, these onlookers drew near.
He rose then, instantly sober,