g cravat, and an ill-used silk hat,
set well back on the wearer's head, completed this somewhat noticeable
costume.

There was a good-natured looking face under the hat though, smooth and
freckled; but the eyes were red and heavy, and the tip of the straight
nose was of quite a vermilion hue.

"No, my dear boy," he continued,--

"You can't catch it,
And I can't fetch it,

"so you may as well take it easy and wait for the next one."

"When does the next one go?" inquired Ralph, looking up at the strange
young man, but with his eyes still unaccustomed to the darkness of the
room.

"Four o'clock, my cherub; not till four o'clock. Going up on that
train myself, and I'll see you right through:--

"Oh, sonny! if you'll wait and go with me,
How happy and delighted I should be."

Then the young man did a strange thing; he took hold of Ralph's arm,
led him to the window, turned his face to the light and scrutinized it
closely.

"Well, I'll be kicked to death by grasshoppers!" he exclaimed, at
last, "have I found--do I behold--is this indeed the long lost Ralph?"

The boy had broken away from him, and stood with frightened, wondering
face, gazing steadily on the young man, as if trying to call something
to memory. Then a light of recognition came into his eyes, and a smile
to his lips.

"Why!" he exclaimed, "it's Joe; it's Rhymin' Joe!"

"A happy meeting," said the young man, "and a mutual remembrance.
Heart speaks to heart.

"The hand of friendship, ever true,
Brings you to me and me to you.

"Mr. Bummerton," turning to the bar-tender, "allow me to introduce my
esteemed young friend, Mr. Ralph Craft, the worthy grandson of an old
acquaintance."

Mr. Bummerton reached a burly hand over the bar and shook hands
cordially with Ralph. "Glad to meet your young friend," he said.

"Well," continued Rhyming Joe, "isn't it strange how and under what
circumstances old cronies sometimes meet? I cast my eyes on you and I
said to myself, 'that young man has a familiar look to me.' I listened
to your voice and I remarked to my inner consciousness, 'that voice
lingers somewhere in the depths of of memory.' I turn your face to the
light, and lo and behold! I reveal to my astonished gaze the features
of my old friend, Ralph.

"No tongue can tell my great delight,
At seeing you again to-night.

"Of course it isn't night yet, you know, but the pressing exigencies of
rhyme often demand the elimination, as i