ike."

"There is no need. I rather think I know it myself." And under her
breath she ejaculated, "Saint Peter deliver us!"

IV

THE OCCUPANT OF A BALMACAAN COAT

Safe in her room, with the door closed and locked, Patsy stood
transfixed before a trunk--likewise closed and locked.

"Thank Heaven for many blessings!" she said, fervently. "Thank Heaven
Miriam St. Regis has worn wigs of every conceivable color and style
on the stage, so there is small chance of any one here knowing the
real color of her hair. Thank Heaven she's given to missing her
engagements and not wiring about it until the next day. Thank Heaven
I've played with her long enough to imitate her mannerisms, and know
her well enough to explain away the night, if the need ever comes.
Thank Heaven that George Travis is an old friend and can help out, if
I fail. Thank Heaven for all of these! But, holy Saint Patrick! how
will I ever be getting inside that box?"

On the heels of her fervor came an inspiration. Off came her gloves
and hat, off came coat and skirt, blouse and shoes, and into the
closet they all went. For, whereas Patsy could carry off her
shabbiness before masculine eyes, she had neither the desire nor the
fortitude to brave the keener, more critical gaze of her own sex. It
was always for the women that Patsy dressed, and above all else did
she stand in awe of the opinion of the hotel chambermaid, going down
in tottering submission before it. Unlocking her door, she rang the
bell; then crept in between the covers of her bed, drawing them up
about her.

The chambermaid came and Patsy ordered the housekeeper. The
housekeeper came and Patsy explained to her the loss of her bag--the
loss of the keys was only implied; it was a part of Patsy's creed of
life never to lie unless cornered. She further implied that she was
entertaining no worry, as a well-appointed hotel always carried a
bunch of skeleton trunk keys for the convenience of their guests.

Patsy's inspiration worked to perfection. In a few minutes the Inn
had proved itself a well-appointed hostelry, and the trunk stood open
before her. Alone again, she slipped out of bed--to lock the door and
investigate. A wistaria lounging-robe was on in a twinkling, with
quilted slippers to match. Then Patsy's eager fingers drew forth a
dark emerald velvet, with bodice and panniers of gold lace, and she
clasped it ecstatically in her arms.

"Miriam always had divine taste, but the faerie