d fashion.

"Not much courage required to root out that kind of a skunk," said he
cheerfully.

"I refer to the courage of your convictions. The young men of this
generation seem to prefer to avoid public disturbances. That breed is
quite capable of making a row, calling the police, raising the deuce,
and all that."

"What of it?" said Orde.

The elderly gentleman puffed out his cheeks.

"You are from the West, are you not?" he stated, rather than asked.

"We call it the East out there," said Orde. "It's Michigan."

"I should call that pretty far west," said the old gentleman.

Nothing more was said. After a block or two Orde descended on his way to
a small hotel just off Broadway. The old gentleman saluted. Orde nodded
good-humouredly. In his private soul he was a little amused at the old
boy. To his view a man and clothes carried to their last refinement were
contradictory terms.

Orde ate, dressed, and set out afoot in search of Miss Bishop's address.
He arrived in front of the house a little past eight o'clock, and, after
a moment's hesitation, mounted the steps and rang the bell.

The door swung silently back to frame an impassive man-servant dressed
in livery. To Orde's inquiry he stated that Miss Bishop had gone out
to the theatre. The young man left his name and a message of regret. At
this the footman, with an irony so subtle as to be quite lost on Orde,
demanded a card. Orde scribbled a line in his note-book, tore it out,
folded it, and left it. In it he stated his regret, his short residence
in the city, and desired an early opportunity to call. Then he departed
down the brownstone steps, totally unconscious of the contempt he had
inspired in the heart of the liveried man behind him.

He retired early and arose early, as had become his habit. When he
descended to the office the night clerk, who had not yet been relieved,
handed him a note delivered the night before. Orde ripped it open
eagerly.

"MY DEAR MR. ORDE:

"I was so sorry to miss you that evening because of a stupid play. Come
around as early as you can to-morrow morning. I shall expect you.

"Sincerely yours,

"CARROLL BISHOP."

Orde glanced at the clock, which pointed to seven. He breakfasted, read
the morning paper, finally started leisurely in the direction of West
Ninth Street. He walked slowly, so as to consume more time, then at
University Place was seized with a panic, and hurried rapidly to his
destination. The door w