no cloth lay
upon it, drooping decorously over the edges. There was no cupboard large
enough to contain the bulk of Bangs. No friendly screen, the
time-honored refuge of the dramatist, stood in any corner. No
Falstaffian basket was there to promise aid. The room was a Sahara in
view of the unhappy arrival of "Billy," and beads of perspiration stood
out on Robert's brow as he waited, without a plan, helpless as a trapped
rabbit.

Tony's friends used sometimes to complain that he put them in impossible
situations. The charge was not unjust; but, as Tony would point out when
accused, he was equally ready to sacrifice himself if circumstances
demanded it. It was unfortunate, no doubt, that Fate seemed to prefer
the immolation of a friend, but that was not his fault,--it was Fate who
should be reviled. This was an occasion calling for presence of mind,
resource and unflinching discipline. If the adventure of his life was
to be carried through successfully, no minor considerations--such as
friendship or soot--could be allowed to weigh. With a strong gesture he
pointed to the old-fashioned hearth and capacious chimney. "Up you go!"
he whispered. "Look sharp!"

Robert recoiled. "No! no!" he whispered piteously. "Not that!
Surely----"

He was not allowed to argue. In another moment Robert felt himself led,
as in a dream, to the fireplace. The next, and he had a foot upon the
massive iron bars. Luckily there was no fire laid, no coal to disturb
and proclaim his bid for obscurity. He looked up into the cavernous
darkness and groaned in spirit; that was the first time he regretted his
mad flight. Then, helping himself by projecting bricks, searching for
insecure crevices with his toes, he began to climb the few feet
necessary to safety.

By the time his ankles were the only visible evidence the hearth was
covered with soot, and Tony looked anxiously round for something to
remove it. As chance would have it, a broom stood in the corner of the
parlor, left there by a careless servant after the morning's tidy-up.
Triumph in his eye, Tony seized it and approached the hearth. But on
getting there his purpose changed; temptation was too strong. Pushing
the broom up the chimney, he used it as one uses a ramrod, helping the
murmurous Robert in his upward path. "Excelsior, old friend!" whispered
Tony, for an ankle could still be seen. "Excelsior!" and he thrust with
frenzy. The only response was a muffled sound that floated down, a
su