nezer would have been proud as a
peacock to show them off. You could have been wandering round with him
while I was fussing over Seventeen as well as not. It's a pity."

So genuine was the regret in the clockmaker's tone that Christopher
hastened to add:

"Oh, it's all right, Mr. McPhearson. Please don't think of it again. I
oughtn't to have mentioned it. It doesn't really matter, you know."

Still his companion was not satisfied.

"We might go back," suggested he.

"No, no! It will make you late at the store. Maybe you'll be going up
there again some other day and can take me along."

"I'm afraid not," replied McPhearson, ruefully. "At least I hope not. If
Seventeen behaves herself as I expect she will, I shall not be needed.
Well! Well! I am sorry. It wasn't very thoughtful of me."

They walked on and hailing a bus climbed aboard it.

The vehicle was crowded and they made their way in with difficulty,
jostling aside its closely packed occupants as they entered.

"Lots of these people will be leaving at the next stop," McPhearson
remarked. "They always do."

The prediction was true. At the next corner the passengers poured out,
leaving the seats only thinly filled.

As Christopher sank into a seat and drew a long breath of relief his eye
wandered idly over those sitting near him, and a stranger opposite
arrested his attention.

[Illustration: What was it that rendered the figure so familiar?
_Page_ 103.]

He was a working man shabbily clothed, and wearing a dingy brown ulster
and slouch hat. Between his feet was a much worn leather bag which
obviously contained tools. His hair was gray and so was the grizzled
beard that partially concealed his features. But it was none of these
that held the boy's attention. Something in the way the fellow's collar
was pulled up and his hat pulled down; something in the gesture with
which he moved his hands to turn his paper aroused a vague memory.
Fascinated, the lad watched. What was it that rendered the figure so
familiar? He had never seen the man before in his life--he was certain
of that. And yet, had he? And if so, where? What was the haunting
association that held him spellbound and made it impossible for him to
remove his gaze from this person whose features were almost entirely
screened from view behind the outspread pages of the morning _Herald_?

Christopher looked away. Of course he didn't know the fellow. Why stare
at him? But do what he would, b