closed a fruitful source of Tenderloin stories. The reporters left the
officer at Broadway and resumed their interrupted walk to supper. "Lots
of funny things happen in the Tenderloin," Fetner remarked, in the
manner of one dismissing a subject.

"But," exclaimed Holt, quite as excited as Tommy had been, "I know
Carrington."

"So does every one," answered Fetner, "by name and reputation. He's just
a swell--swell enough to be noted. Isn't that all?"

"He was a couple of classes ahead of me at college," continued Holt. "I
didn't know him there--one doesn't know half of one's own class--but his
family and mine are old friends, and without troubling himself to know
me, more than to nod, he sometimes sent me word to use his horses when
he was away. Before I left college and went to work on a Boston paper,
Carrington started on a trip around the world. My people heard of him
through his people at times, and learned that he was doing a number of
crazy things, among them getting lost in all sorts of No-man's-lands.
His people were usually asking the State Department to locate him,
through the diplomatic and consular services."

"Then this is one of his eccentricities," commented Fetner.

"How can you treat it like that?" exclaimed Holt. "I think it is a
fascinating mystery, and I'm going to solve it."

"Not for publication," warned Fetner.

"For my own satisfaction," declared Holt, with great earnestness.

* * * * *

When the superintendent of the Quadrangle had shaken hands with the
officer he turned to Tommy and said: "You go up to Mr. Carrington. He
wants to see you."

"Tommy," said Mr. Carrington, "I think this is a joke on you."

This view of the event was such a relief to Tommy that he grinned
broadly.

"It is certainly a joke on you. Now, Thomas, did my friend make himself
up to look so much like me that you could not have told the difference,
even if you were not distracted by the discomfiture of the New York nine
this season?"

"I can't say how much he looked like you, and how much he didn't. I
naturally thought he was you--that's all."

"Not all, Thomas: nothing is all. He asked in an easy, nice voice for a
coat, so you thought he was somebody who had a coat here. How did you
know whose coat he preferred?"

"Because I thought he was you."

"If I had not been the last tenant to leave the house before that, would
you have thought so? If Mr. Hopkins had just left, and