questing through
profounds of space. In a misty way Saxon felt that she had seen him
before.

"Hello," he greeted. "You ought to be comfortable here." He threw down a
partly filled sack. "Mussels. All I could get. The tide's not low enough
yet."

Saxon heard Billy muffle an ejaculation, and saw painted on his face the
extremest astonishment.

"Well, honest to God, it does me proud to meet you," he blurted out.
"Shake hands. I always said if I laid eyes on you I'd shake.--Say!"

But Billy's feelings mastered him, and, beginning with a choking giggle,
he roared into helpless mirth.

The stranger looked at him curiously across their clasped hands, and
glanced inquiringly to Saxon.

"You gotta excuse me," Billy gurgled, pumping the other's hand up and
down. "But I just gotta laugh. Why, honest to God, I've woke up nights
an' laughed an' gone to sleep again. Don't you recognize 'm, Saxon? He's
the same identical dude say, friend, you're some punkins at a hundred
yards dash, ain't you?"

And then, in a sudden rush, Saxon placed him. He it was who had stood
with Roy Blanchard alongside the automobile on the day she had wandered,
sick and unwitting, into strange neighborhoods. Nor had that day been
the first time she had seen him.

"Remember the Bricklayers' Picnic at Weasel Park?" Billy was asking.
"An' the foot race? Why, I'd know that nose of yours anywhere among a
million. You was the guy that stuck your cane between Timothy McManus's
legs an' started the grandest roughhouse Weasel Park or any other park
ever seen."

The visitor now commenced to laugh. He stood on one leg as he laughed
harder, then stood on the other leg. Finally he sat down on a log of
driftwood.

"And you were there," he managed to gasp to Billy at last. "You saw it.
You saw it." He turned to Saxon. "--And you?"

She nodded.

"Say," Billy began again, as their laughter eased down, "what I wants
know is what'd you wanta do it for. Say, what'd you wants do it for?
I've been askin' that to myself ever since."

"So have I," was the answer.

"You didn't know Timothy McManus, did you?"

"No; I'd never seen him before, and I've never seen him since."

"But what'd you wanta do it for?" Billy persisted.

The young man laughed, then controlled himself.

"To save my life, I don't know. I have one friend, a most intelligent
chap that writes sober, scientific books, and he's always aching to
throw an egg into an electric fan to see what will