d offer an easy solution
to the proposal he imagined would soon be forthcoming--that _was_
forthcoming--and accepted. Of course! What alternative remained? Needs
must when an empty pocket drives. Had he not learned the lesson--beggars
must not be choosers?

"And now," said Mr. Mackintosh with the air of a man who had cast from
his shoulders a distinct problem, "that does away with the necessity of
bailing the other chap out. What's your name?"

The visitor hesitated. "Horatio Heatherbloom."

The other looked at him keenly. "The right one," he said softly.

"You've got the only one you'll get," replied the caller, after an
interval.

Mr. Mackintosh bestowed upon him a knowing wink. "Sounds like a _nom de
plume_," he chuckled. "What was your line?"

"I don't understand."

"What did you serve time for? Shoplifting?"

"Oh, no," said the other calmly.

"Burglarizing?" With more respect in his tones.

"What do you think?" queried the caller in the same mild voice.

"Not ferocious-looking enough for that lay, I should have thought.
However, you can't always tell by appearances. Now, I wonder--"

"What?" observed Mr. Heatherbloom, after an interval of silence.

"Yes! By Jove!" Mr. Mackintosh was speaking to himself. "It might
work--it might add interest--" Mr. Heatherbloom waited patiently. "Would
you have any objections," earnestly, "to my making a little addenda to
the sign on the chariot of cadence? _What's the Matter with Mother_?
'The touching lyric, as interpreted by Horatio Heatherbloom, the
reformed burglar'?"

"I _should_ object," observed the caller.

"My boy--my boy! Don't be hasty. Take time to think. I'll go further;
I'll paint a few iron bars in front of the harp. Suggestive of a
prisoner in jail thinking of mother. Say 'yes'."

"No."

"Too bad!" murmured Mr. Mackintosh in disappointed but not altogether
convinced tones. "You could use another alias, you know. If you're
afraid the police might pipe your game and nab--"

"Drop it, or--"

"All right, Mr. Heatherbloom, or any other blooming name!" Recovering
his jocular manner. "It's not for me to inquire the 'why,' or care a rap
for the 'wherefore.' Ethics hasn't anything to do with the realm of
art."

As he spoke he reached under the desk and took out the jug. "Have some?"
extending the tumbler.

The thin lips of the other moved, his hand quickly extended but was
drawn as suddenly back. "Thanks, but I'm on the water wagon, old chap."