in his bank
balance. The third envelope carried the name of a firm of lawyers not
unknown to the man addressed--a firm that specialized in the collection
of bad debts; Wilkinson looked at this longer than at either of the
others, for he was ignorant of its contents. Then, without opening any
one of the three, he thoughtfully took out his fountain pen.

Crossing out his own Mount Vernon Place address from all three
envelopes, he readdressed the tailor's communication in an alien hand
to the Hotel Bon Air, Augusta, Georgia. On the dentist's missive he
inscribed "Auditorium Annex, Chicago, Illinois." Over the lawyer's
letter he hesitated a moment, and then boldly wrote "Chateau Frontenac,
Quebec, P. Q." This would at least be a grateful reprieve. After five
days all these epistles would be returned to their senders, who would
probably not question the fact that their failure to reach him had not
been purely accidental. Moreover his credit with this trio would
positively be improved by the impression that his resources were at any
rate sufficient to enable him to travel far and to stop at well-known
hotels.

After he had dropped the three envelopes into the post-box it occurred
to him that he might just as well--perhaps even better--have sent all
three to the same place, but even allowing liberally for the
incorrectness of this detail, Mr. Hurd's opinion of his step-nephew
seemed in a fair way of being justified.

CHAPTER II

It occurred to Mr. Smith that no one has ever determined the precise
idea upon which the Boston and Manhattan Railroad bases its schedules
with its infrequent adherence thereto and customary deviation
therefrom. Numberless ingenious theories have been advanced from time
to time by untold thousands of exasperated patrons of the line;
opinions of all colors, all temperatures, all degrees of light and
shade have been volunteered, many with a violence that lends
conviction, but all in vain. The thing remains as secret, as
recondite, as baffling as ever. Good Bostonians regard attempts to
solve the problem as not only futile but impertinent--almost
blasphemous--accepting it as a factor in the general inscrutability
which veils the world, and are content to let it remain such.

From these reflections it is patent that this large patience, this
Oriental calm, had not yet come to Mr. Richard Smith of New York, who
felt a certain irritation somewhat modified by amusement as he sat
looking