ones, but a red
candle was a red candle--with a special look of Christmas cheer. He
would have no other.

The turn of a second corner brought him to the great square. Usually he
avoided it. The blaze of gold on the west side was the club.

A row of motors lined the curb. There was Baxter's limousine and
Fenton's French car. He knew them all. He remembered when his own French
car had overshadowed Fenton's Ford.

There were wreaths to-night in the club windows, and when Sands opened
the doors there was a mass of poinsettia against the hall mirror.

How warm it looked with all that gold and red!

In the basement was the grill. It was a night when one might order
something heavy and hot. A planked steak--with deviled oysters at the
start and a salad at the end.

And now another motor-car was poking its nose against the curb. And
Whiting climbed out, a bear in a big fur coat.

Whiting's car was a closed one. And it would stay there for an hour.
Ostrander knew the habits of the man. From the office to the club, and
from the club--home. Whiting was methodical to a minute. At seven sharp
the doors would open and let him out.

The clock on the post-office tower showed six!

There was a policeman on the east corner, beating his arms against the
cold. Ostrander did not beat his arms. He cowered frozenly in the shadow
of a big building until the policeman passed on.

Then he darted across the street and into Whiting's car!

Whiting, coming out in forty minutes, found his car gone. Sands, the
door man, said that he had noticed nothing. The policeman on the corner
had not noticed.

"I usually stay longer," Whiting said, "but to-night I wanted to get
home. I have a lot of things for the kids."

"Were the things in your car?" the policeman asked.

"Yes. Toys and all that--"

Ostrander, with his hand on the wheel, his feet on the brakes, slipped
through the crowded streets unchallenged. It had been easy to unlock the
car. He had learned many things in these later years.

It was several minutes before he was aware of faint fragrances--warm
tropical fragrances of flowers and fruits and spices--Christmas
fragrances which sent him back to the great kitchen where his
grandmother's servants had baked and brewed.

He stopped the car and touched a button. The light showed booty. He had
not expected this. He had wanted the car for an hour, to feel the thrill
of it under his fingers, to taste again the luxury of its warmth a