n jumping on you."

"No, he didn't," maintained Wrinkles; "but he let me know it was--well,
rather a--rather a--sacred subject." Wrinkles blushed when the others
snickered.

In the afternoon, as Hawker was going slowly down the stairs, he was
almost impaled upon the feather of a hat which, upon the head of a lithe
and rather slight girl, charged up at him through the gloom.

"Hello, Splutter!" he cried. "You are in a hurry."

"That you, Billie?" said the girl, peering, for the hallways of this old
building remained always in a dungeonlike darkness.

"Yes, it is. Where are you going at such a headlong gait?"

"Up to see the boys. I've got a bottle of wine and some--some pickles,
you know. I'm going to make them let me dine with them to-night. Coming
back, Billie?"

"Why, no, I don't expect to."

He moved then accidentally in front of the light that sifted through the
dull, gray panes of a little window.

"Oh, cracky!" cried the girl; "how fine you are, Billie! Going to a
coronation?"

"No," said Hawker, looking seriously over his collar and down at his
clothes. "Fact is--er--well, I've got to make a call."

"A call--bless us! And are you really going to wear those gray gloves
you're holding there, Billie? Say, wait until you get around the corner.
They won't stand 'em on this street."

"Oh, well," said Hawker, depreciating the gloves--"oh, well."

The girl looked up at him. "Who you going to call on?"

"Oh," said Hawker, "a friend."

"Must be somebody most extraordinary, you look so dreadfully correct.
Come back, Billie, won't you? Come back and dine with us."

"Why, I--I don't believe I can."

"Oh, come on! It's fun when we all dine together. Won't you, Billie?"

"Well, I----"

"Oh, don't be so stupid!" The girl stamped her foot and flashed her eyes
at him angrily.

"Well, I'll see--I will if I can--I can't tell----" He left her rather
precipitately.

Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang the
bell with quite nervous fingers.

But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were as
those of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked down
the street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has been
grievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were set
strangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"It's just right," said Grief.

"It isn't quite cool enough," said Wrinkles.

"Well, I guess