whispered. His voice was unpleasantly cold and
grim. "That's 'Baby Belle,' with her hair dyed, a detective lady of the
Pinkertons, hired to find me. And _you_ know it. Now, who are _you?_"

To permit him to reply Ashton released his hand, but at the same moment,
in a sudden access of fear, dug the revolver deeper into the pit of
Ford's stomach.

"Quick!" he commanded. "Never mind the girl. _Who are you?_"

Ford collapsed against the cushioned corner of the cab. "And she begged
me to find you," he roared, "because she _loved_ you, because she wanted
to _believe_ in you!" He held his arms above his head. "Go ahead and
shoot!" he cried. "You want to know who I am?" he demanded. His voice
rang with rage. "I'm an amateur. Just a natural born fool-amateur! Go on
and shoot!"

The gun in Ashton's hand sank to his knee. Between doubt and laughter
his face was twisted in strange lines. The cab was whirling through a
narrow, unlit street leading to Covent Garden. Opening the door Ashton
called to the chauffeur, and then turned to Ford.

"You get off here!" he commanded. "Maybe you're a 'Pink,' maybe you're a
good fellow. I think you're a good fellow, but I'm not taking any
chances. Get out!"

Ford scrambled to the street, and as the taxicab again butted itself
forward, Ashton leaned far through the window. "Good-by, son," he
called. "Send me a picture-postal card to Paris. For I am off to
Maxim's," he cried, "and you can go to--"

"Not at all!" shouted the amateur detective indignantly. "I'm going back
to take supper with 'Baby Belle'!"

THE MAKE-BELIEVE MAN

I

I had made up my mind that when my vacation came I would spend it
seeking adventures. I have always wished for adventures, but, though I
am old enough--I was twenty-five last October--and have always gone
half-way to meet them, adventures avoid me. Kinney says it is my fault.
He holds that if you want adventures you must go after them.

Kinney sits next to me at Joyce & Carboy's, the woollen manufacturers,
where I am a stenographer, and Kinney is a clerk, and we both have rooms
at Mrs. Shaw's boarding-house. Kinney is only a year older than myself,
but he is always meeting with adventures. At night, when I have sat up
late reading law, so that I may fit myself for court reporting, and in
the hope that some day I may become a member of the bar, he will knock
at my door and tell me some surprising thing that has just happened to
him. Sometimes he has f