Englishman.

"Perhaps it might be better," suggested the tragedian, "if Miss
Arminster saw her first."

"Perhaps it might," acquiesced Spotts.

"All right, I'll go," said Violet; adding to Cecil, as she passed him:
"Don't be frightened; her bark's worse than her bite." And she entered
the house laughing.

"But where are the others?" asked the author.

"Sh!" whispered the tragedian, casting a suspicious glance at the
Quaker. "We're not alone."

"Yes," said Spotts, "the Bishop's got a new convert."

"Oh," returned Banborough, "I forgot you hadn't met this gentleman. We
inadvertently rescued him, and since then he's done us a similar service
twice over. I really don't know what he's called. The clothes belong to
Spotts."

"I thought I recognised the costume," said Smith. Then, turning to the
stranger, he demanded, abruptly: "What's your name?"

"I have been known by many," came the suave tones of the Quaker, "but
for the purposes of our brief acquaintance thee mayst call me Friend
Othniel."

The tragedian gave a grunt of disapproval.

"I think he can be trusted," remarked Spotts. "He's certainly stood by
us well, so far. Now tell us about Kerrington and Mill."

"Yes, I'm most anxious to know what's become of them," said the
Englishman. And the three drew nearer together, while the Quaker,
turning to the road, stood basking in the sunshine, his broad flabby
hands clasped complacently before him.

Tybalt Smith, after casting another furtive glance in Friend Othniel's
direction, murmured the words:

"Shoe-strings and a sandwich!"

"Eh? What?" queried Banborough.

"Our two friends," continued the tragedian, "through the powerful aid of
a member of our fraternity, whose merits the public have hitherto failed
to recognise, have sought refuge in the more humble walks of life to
escape the undesirable publicity forced upon them by _you_! Mr.
Kerrington, disguised as a Jew pedlar, is now dispensing shoe-strings
and collar-buttons on lower Broadway, while Mr. Mill is at present
taking a constitutional down Fifth Avenue encased in a sandwich frame
calling attention to the merits of Backer's Tar Soap. He is, if I may
so express it, between the boards instead of on the boards--a little
pleasantry of my own, you will observe."

The tragedian paused, but failing to elicit the desired laugh, continued
his narration:

"Mrs. Mackintosh, though having been offered a most desirable position
to hawk apples and chewing-