no
trouble. Just a slice o' bread, if you can find it, without troublin'
no one. See?"

William had a brilliant idea.

"Let's go 'cross to that window an' get in," he said eagerly. "That's
the lib'ry and no one uses it 'cept father, and he's not in till
later."

Mr. Blank insisted on tying Jumble up, then he swung himself
dexterously through the window. William gave a gasp of admiration.

"You did that fine," he said.

Again Mr. Blank closed one eye.

"Not the first time I've got in at a winder, young gent, nor the
larst, I bet. Not by a long way. See?"

William followed more slowly. His eye gleamed with pride. This hero of
romance and adventure was now his guest, under his roof.

"Make yourself quite at home, Mr. Blank," he said with an air of
intense politeness.

Mr. Blank did. He emptied Mr. Brown's cigar-box into his pocket. He
drank three glasses of Mr. Brown's whiskey and soda. While William's
back was turned he filled his pockets with the silver ornaments from
the mantel-piece. He began to inspect the drawers in Mr. Brown's desk.
Then:

[Illustration: MR. BLANK MADE HIMSELF QUITE AT HOME]

"William! Come to tea!"

"You stay here," whispered William. "I'll bring you some."

But luck was against him. It was a visitors' tea in the drawing-room,
and Mrs. de Vere Carter, a neighbour, there, in all her glory. She
rose from her seat with an ecstatic murmur.

"Willie! _Dear_ child! _Sweet_ little soul!"

With one arm she crushed the infuriated William against her belt, with
the other she caressed his hair. Then William in moody silence sat
down in a corner and began to eat bread and butter. Every time he
prepared to slip a piece into his pocket, he found his mother's or
Mrs. de Vere Carter's eye fixed upon him and hastily began to eat it
himself. He sat, miserable and hot, seeing only the heroic figure
starving in the next room, and planned a raid on the larder as soon as
he could reasonably depart. Every now and then he scowled across at
Mrs. de Vere Carter and made a movement with his hands as though
pulling a cap over his eyes. He invested even his eating with an air
of dark mystery.

Then Robert, his elder brother, came in, followed by a thin, pale man
with eye-glasses and long hair.

"This is Mr. Lewes, mother," said Robert with an air of pride and
triumph. "He's editor of _Fiddle Strings_."

There was an immediate stir and sensation. Robert had often talked of
his famous friend. In fact R