"He doesn't bite, I suppose, or sting or what-not?"

"He may what-not occasionally. It depends on the weather. But, outside
of that, he's as harmless as a canary."

"Dashed dangerous things, canaries," said Archie, thoughtfully. "They
peck at you."

"Don't weaken!" pleaded the Press-agent

"Oh, all right. I'll take him. By the way, touching the matter of
browsing and sluicing. What do I feed him on?"

"Oh, anything. Bread-and-milk or fruit or soft-boiled egg or dog-biscuit
or ants'-eggs. You know--anything you have yourself. Well, I'm much
obliged for your hospitality. I'll do the same for you another time. Now
I must be getting along to see to the practical end of the thing. By the
way, Her Nibs lives at the Cosmopolis, too. Very convenient. Well, so
long. See you later."

Archie, left alone, began for the first time to have serious doubts. He
had allowed himself to be swayed by Mr. Sherriff's magnetic personality,
but now that the other had removed himself he began to wonder if he had
been entirely wise to lend his sympathy and co-operation to the scheme.
He had never had intimate dealings with a snake before, but he had kept
silkworms as a child, and there had been the deuce of a lot of fuss and
unpleasantness over them. Getting into the salad and what-not. Something
seemed to tell him that he was asking for trouble with a loud voice, but
he had given his word and he supposed he would have to go through with
it.

He lit another cigarette and wandered out into Fifth Avenue. His usually
smooth brow was ruffled with care. Despite the eulogies which Sherriff
had uttered concerning Peter, he found his doubts increasing. Peter
might, as the Press-agent had stated, be a great scout, but was his
little Garden of Eden on the fifth floor of the Cosmopolis Hotel likely
to be improved by the advent of even the most amiable and winsome of
serpents? However--

"Moffam! My dear fellow!"

The voice, speaking suddenly in his ear from behind, roused Archie from
his reflections. Indeed, it roused him so effectually that he jumped a
clear inch off the ground and bit his tongue. Revolving on his axis, he
found himself confronting a middle-aged man with a face like a horse.
The man was dressed in something of an old-world style. His clothes had
an English cut. He had a drooping grey moustache. He also wore a grey
bowler hat flattened at the crown--but who are we to judge him?

"Archie Moffam! I have been trying to find you a