t, I might
celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!" And
he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in
another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer.

The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously
than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the
storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became
obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little
figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child.

"I wonder if it's all right," he said to himself. "I never saw living
creature sit so still."

He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just
then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green
flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great
sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and
motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he
turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty.

It was a fact. There was no child there--not even moisture on the seat
where she had been sitting.

"Bill," said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver,
"what became of that little kid in the old cloak?"

"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly. "For Gawd's sake, close the
door, John, and git that draught off my back."

"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's the draught?"

"You've left the hind door open," growled Bill, and John saw him
shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin
coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself
that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness.

However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no
doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching
figure was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John
said to himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where
there ought to be something.

He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more
passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the
rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he
was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the city
where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the
storm--or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother
o