t, thinking what a strange life he led. It was
many and many a year ago since Mister and society had parted company;
and through all this time, it was certain that every hand had been
against him. In many cities he had stood before sarcastic judges, and
been sent on to serve his little time. Adown highways unnumbered he had
sawed wood, when necessary; received handouts, worn hand-me-downs;
furnished infinite material for the wags of the comic press. Long he
had slept under hedges and in ricks, carried his Lares in a bandana
kerchief, been forcibly bathed at free lodging-houses in icy winters.
Dogs had chased him, and his fellow man: he had been bitten by the one
and smitten by the other. Ill-fame and obloquy had followed him like a
shadow. And yet--so strong and strange are our ruling passions--nothing
could wean him from the alluring feckless ways which had heaped all
these disasters upon him....

Thus and otherwise philosophizing, V. Vivian slipped on his overcoat
(which had so far escaped Mr. Garland's requisitions) and flung wide the
office windows to rid his chambers of the medical smell. He had had a
busy morning, his habit of having no billheads, while regarded as
demoralizing by professional brethren of the neighborhood, being clearly
gratifying to the circumambient laity. It was now getting toward noon,
and the doctor was in a hurry. Besides calls on his sick, he was very
anxious to get uptown before dinner and inquire after his uncle
Armistead Beirne, who had lain ill, with a heavy, rather alarming
illness, since a day or two after his New Year's reception. This call
was purely avuncular, so to say, Mr. Beirne employing a reliable
physician of his own....

The young man picked up his doctor's bag and opened the door. At the far
end of the long hall, where the Garlands' apartments were, he caught a
glimpse of a skirt, just whisking out of sight. He thought he recognized
the skirt, which was a red one, and called, in surprise:

"Corinne!"

There was no answer.

"Corinne!" he called, louder. "Is that you?"

Sure enough, Kern's face peeped out of a door, a long distance away.

"It's me, and it ain't me," she cried, mockingly. "I'm here _in-cog."_

And her head bobbed back out of sight again.

"What're you talking about?" called Vivian into the emptiness. "Did you
feel too weak to work?"

"Like in the books," said Kern, and stuck her head out again with a
giggle. "Why, I thank you kindly," she went on i