ig
eyes fastened on her all the while. There was the janitor of the
apartment-house. He might easily be induced to take a boarder, and he
would be discreet. Ogla-Moga could be kept in retirement in his rooms.
She would act at once upon the idea. And yet what was she to say? How
was she to account for the presence of this stranger in her little
household? Ah! he needed clothes. His present costume was an
impossible one. She would begin with this subject with the janitor's
wife, and feel her way gradually. So she made her way to the top of
the house.

It would be hard to say who was in the greatest flutter when the
janitor's door was opened upon her, Miss Slopham, whose maiden bosom
was agitated with strange embarrassments, or Mrs. Doherty, who was not
accustomed to receive calls from the ladies of the house. The former
was so confused that she walked against a chair and knocked it over,
gave a little scream, and stepped on the baby, which was sprawling on
the floor, whereat the baby screamed, and she screamed, and Mrs.
Doherty screamed--all of which did not tend to diminish the mental
excitement of either of the ladies, especially as Mrs. Doherty had up
to that moment been trying to dust off a chair with one hand while she
held another baby with the other arm, and motioned with her head to a
little girl--or perhaps she ought to be called a baby--who had charge
of still two other babies, to take them out of the room. Poor Miss
Slopham thought she had never seen so many babies in her life before,
and the spectacle somehow only increased her bewilderment. So perhaps
it was not to be wondered at that when she had sunk into a chair she
should begin the conversation with the extraordinary and utterly
unprecedented question:

"Oh, Mrs. Doherty, could you--a--could you--a--lend me--a--a pair of
pantaloons?"

"A pair of what, Miss Slopham?" said the astounded Mrs. Doherty, in a
low voice which expressed both the proper deference of the janitor's
wife and the natural amazement of the woman.

"Oh, of course, I--I didn't mean to say that," poor Miss Slopham
stammered, in hopeless embarrassment. "The fact is, there's a
gentleman down-stairs--a friend of mine, you know--he has no home, and
very few clothes--and I want to get you to help me. He's down-stairs
now, and he's going to stay--I don't see how I am going to help
it--and I must get a suit of clothes for him this afternoon. I suppose
you think this is all very queer," said