men were standing at
the curb. The one in the middle had evidently been drinking, for his
head was drooping, and he was leaning heavily upon his companions. He
was helped in and placed far forward, just under the coin box. Casey
pulled the strap attached to his leg, closing the door, and we moved
on, across Madison Square, past St. Leo's, up the slope of Murray Hill.
At Thirty-seventh Street there was a tug at the strap, and one of the
young men said a curt 'good-night' and alighted. We passed the old
Reservoir, crossed Forty-second Street. Two blocks more and the second
of the young men signalled. 'Good-night, Dick!' he said and was gone.
As we resumed the journey the gentleman who with his wife had climbed
aboard at Eighth Street noticed that the head of the third young man,
the one apparently intoxicated, was sinking lower and lower. Thinking
that he might be carried beyond his destination he stepped forward and
touched his arm. 'We are passing Fifty-third Street,' he said. There
was no response. He shook the shoulder and repeated the information.
Suddenly he turned to his wife. 'We will get out,' he said quickly.
'But, George--' she began. 'We will get out,' he repeated, pulling the
strap. As they stood under the lamp light at the corner the wife
continued her protests. 'But there were four more blocks to go.' 'My
dear,' said the husband, '_that young man's throat was cut from ear to
ear!_'"

"You are," I remarked crossly, "a most infernal old liar."

"Maybe, maybe," was the wheezy response.

[Illustration: "THE SITE OF THE OLD LENOX LIBRARY IS NOW OCCUPIED BY
THE HOUSE OF MR. HENRY C. FRICK, ONE OF THE GREAT SHOW RESIDENCES OF THE
AVENUE AND THE CITY. A BROAD GARDEN SEPARATES THE HOUSE, WHICH IS
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ENGLISH, FROM THE SIDEWALK"]

"But I haven't said that it was true, have I? Nor again have I said
that it wasn't. Strange things have happened on the Avenue. There have
been nights of violence. Sometimes, on late trips, my nerves have jumped
at the sound of some terrified cry. Often it has come from one of the
most respectable of houses. Again, in broad daylight, I have seen
startled faces pressed against upper windows. I have seen hands dropping
notes to the pavement. Once in a while a passer-by has picked up one of
those notes. But as a rule they were caught by the wind and whisked
away. What was in those notes? That's what I want to know. Again, when
it was dark, there has been the sound of runnin