in need who is the most
welcome of all friends. Knowing nothing whatsoever of her domestic
surroundings he deemed it advisable to make inquiries on the spot. His
crafty and vulpine nature warned him against running his head into a
noose, since Winifred might own a strong-armed father or brother, but no
one could possibly resent a well-meant effort at assistance.

The mere sight of her graceful figure as she hurried along with pale
face and downcast eyes inflamed him anew when his taxi sped by. She
could not avoid him now. He would go up-town by an earlier train, and
await her at the corner of One Hundred and Twelfth Street.

But the wariest fox is apt to find his paw in a trap, and Fowle, though
foxy, was by no means so astute as he imagined himself. Once again that
day Fate was preparing a surprise for Winifred, and not the least
dramatic feature thereof connoted the utter frustration and undoing of
Fowle.

About the time that Winifred caught her train it befell that Rex
Carshaw, gentleman of leisure, the most industrious idler who ever
extracted dividends from a business he cared little about, drove a
high-powered car across the Harlem River by the Willis Avenue Bridge,
and entered that part of Manhattan which lies opposite Randall's Island.

This was a new world to the eyes of the young millionaire. Nor was it
much to his liking. The mixed citizenry of New York must live somewhere,
but Carshaw saw no reason why he and his dainty car should loiter in a
district which seemed highly popular with all sorts of undesirable
folks; so, after skirting Thomas Jefferson Park he turned west, meaning
to reach the better roadway and more open stretches of Fifth Avenue.

A too hasty express wagon, however, heedless of the convenience of
wealthy automobilists, bore down on Carshaw like a Juggernaut car, and
straightway smashed the differential, besides inflicting other grievous
injuries on a complex mechanism. A policeman, the proprietor of a
neighboring garage, and a greatly interested crowd provided an impromptu
jury for the dispute between Carshaw and the express man.

The latter put up a poor case. It consisted almost entirely of the
bitter and oft-repeated plaint:

"What was a car like that doin' here, anyhow?"

The question sounded foolish. It was nothing of the kind. Only the
Goddess of Wisdom could have answered it, and she, being invisible, was
necessarily dumb.

At last, when the damaged car was housed for the ni