es back with
creases in the legs, he hustles Wilbur into a cab and starts for a
barber shop.

Say, I don't suppose Cobb'll ever know it; but if he'd been huntin' for
expert help along that line, he couldn't have tumbled into better hands
than he did when Pinckney gets interested in his case. When they
floats in again, along about six o'clock, I hardly knows Wilbur for the
same party. He's wearin' a long black ulster that covers up most of
the plaid nightmare; he's shook the woolly lid for a fall block derby,
he's had his face scraped and powdered, and his neck ringlets trimmed
up; and he even sports a pair of yellow kids and a silver headed stick.

"Gosh!" says I. "Looks like you'd run him through a finishing machine.
Why, he'll have Zylphina after him with a net."

"Yes," says Pinckney. "I fancy he'll do now."

As for Wilbur, he only looks good natured and happy. Course, Pinckney
wants to go along with him, to see that it all turns out right; and he
counts me in too, so off we starts. I was a little curious to get a
glimpse of Zylphina myself, and watch how stunned she'd be. For we has
it all framed up how she'll act. Havin' seen the tintype, I can't get
it out of my head that she's still wearin' her hair loose and looking
like M'liss in the first act.

"Hope she'll be on time," says I, as we turns the corner.

There was more or less folks goin' and comin' from the ladies'
entrance; but no girl like the one we was lookin' for. So we fetches
up in a bunch opposite the door and prepares to wait. We hadn't stood
there a minute, before there comes a squeal from behind, and some one
says:

"Why, Wilbur Cobb! Is that you?"

And what do you guess shows up? There at the curb is a big, open
tourin' car,--one of the opulent, shiny kind,--with a slick looking
shuffer in front, and, standin' up in the tonneau, a tart little lady
wearin' Broadway clothes that was right up to the minute, hair done
into breakfast rolls behind, and a long pink veil streamin' down her
back. Only by the pug nose and the mouth could I guess that it might
be Zylphina. And it was.

There wa'n't any gettin' away from the fact that she was a little
jarred at seein' Wilbur lookin' so cute; but that was nothin' to the
jolt she handed us. Mr. Cobb, he just opens his mouth and gazes at her
like she was some sort of an exhibit. And Pinckney, who'd been
expectin' something in a dollar-thirty-nine shirtwaist and a sagged
skirt, is down a