, while Dal was reciting "Give me three grains
of corn, mother," threw somebody's overcoat over my shoulders, put on a
man's soft hat--Jim's I think--and went up to the roof.

It was dark in the third floor hall, and I had to feel my way to the
foot of the stairs. I went up quietly, and turned the knob of the door
to the roof. At first it would not open, and I could hear the wind
howling outside. Finally, however, I got the door open a little and
wormed my way through. It was not entirely dark out there, in spite of
the storm. A faint reflection of the street lights made it possible to
distinguish the outlines of the boxwood plants, swaying in the wind, and
the chimneys and the tent. And then--a dark figure disentangled itself
from the nearest chimney and seemed to hurl itself at me. I remember
putting out my hands and trying to say something, but the figure caught
me roughly by the shoulders and knocked me back against the door frame.
From miles away a heavy voice was saying, "So I've got you!" and then
the roof gave from under me, and I was floating out on the storm, and
sleet was beating in my face, and the wind was whispering over and over,
"Open your eyes, for God's sake!"

I did open them after a while, and finally I made out that I was laying
on the floor in the tent. The lights were on, and I had a cold and damp
feeling, and something wet was trickling down my neck.

I seemed to be alone, but in a second somebody came into the tent, and I
saw it was Mr. Harbison, and that he had a double handful of half-melted
snow. He looked frantic and determined, and only my sitting up quickly
prevented my getting another snow bath. My neck felt queer and stiff,
and I was very dizzy. When he saw that I was conscious he dropped the
snow and stood looking down at me.

"Do you know," he said grimly, "that I very nearly choked you to death a
little while ago?"

"It wouldn't surprise me to be told so," I said. "Do I know too much, or
what is it, Mr. Harbison?" I felt terribly ill, but I would not let him
see it. "It is queer, isn't it--how we always select the roof for our
little--differences?" He seemed to relax somewhat at my gibe.

"I didn't know it was you," he explained shortly. "I was waiting
for--some one, and in the hat you wore and the coat, I mistook you.
That's all. Can you stand?"

"No," I retorted. I could, but his summary manner displeased me. The
sequel, however, was rather amazing, for he stooped suddenly an