put his hat and
coat in the vestiary and was about to order dinner, when he was accosted
by Alphabet Jones.

"I say, Varick," the novelist exclaimed--(during the winter they had
seen much of each other), "do you know who was the originator of the
cloak-room? Of course you don't--I'll tell you; who do you suppose now?
Give it up? Mrs. Potiphar! How's that? Good enough for Theodore Hook,
eh? Let's dine together, and I'll tell you some more."

"Let's dine together" was a formula which Mr. Jones had adopted.
Literally, it meant, I'll order and you pay. Tristrem was aware in what
light the invitation should be viewed, he had heard it before; but,
though the novelist was of the genus _spongia_, he was seldom tiresome,
often entertaining, and moreover, Tristrem was one who would rather pay
than not. As there were few of that category in the club, Mr. Jones made
a special prey of him, and on this particular evening, when the ordering
had been done and the dinner announced, he led him in triumph to the
lift.

As they were about to step in, Weldon stepped out. He seemed hurried and
would have passed on with a nod, but Tristrem caught him by the arm. Of
late he had seen little of him, and it had seemed to Tristrem that the
fault, if fault there were, must be his own.

"I caught a glimpse of you last night, didn't I, Royal?" he asked.

Weldon raised his eyebrows for all response. Evidently he was not in a
conversational mood. But at once an idea seemed to strike him. "I dare
say," he answered, "I roam about now and then like anyone else. By the
way, where are you going to-night? Why not look in on my wife? She says
you neglect her."

"I would like it, Royal, but the fact is I am going to make a call."

"In Thirty-ninth Street?"

Tristrem looked at him much as a yokel at a fair might look at a wizard.
He was so astonished at Weldon's prescience that he merely nodded.

"You can save yourself the trouble then--I happened to meet Miss Raritan
this afternoon. She is dining at the Wainwarings. Look in at Gramercy
Park." And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared into the
smoking-room.

"Didn't I hear Weldon mention Miss Raritan?" Jones asked, when he and
Tristrem had finished the roast. "There's a girl I'd like to put in a
book. She has hell in her eyes and heaven in her voice. What a heroine
she would make!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically; and then in a complete
change of key, in a tone that was pregnant with sugge