hook, rejoicing to observe no trace of suspicion in
the inventor's clear gray eyes.

"Allow me to retain this letter for the present," asked Marcus. "It may
serve as a clue to the detection of the concealed scoundrel. I also beg
that you will show me any other anonymous letters of the same character
that may reach you."

Mr. Minford laughed. "The stove door is the pigeonhole where all such
nonsense ought to be filed away. But just as you please. If any more
come to hand, you shall see them. They may amuse you, as they do me.
Ha! ha!"

Marcus echoed the laugh, but feebly. Then it occurred to him that Pet
would soon be home, and he felt a strange aversion to meeting her, after
what had happened. He therefore pleaded a pressing engagement at eleven
o'clock (which it then was), and took his departure from the inventor's
roof, but not without a warm and seemingly sincere invitation to
"call soon."

CHAPTER II.

CONSOLATIONS OF HIGH ART.

Marcus walked slowly toward Broadway, musing and unhappy. To a man of
his delicate and hyper-sensitive nature, an event of this kind was a
vast disturbance. He felt that this anonymous letter was but the
forerunner of a long series of troubles. That prescience which nervous
people have of misfortunes portrayed to him a future black with
disappointments and dangers.

"Hallo, Mark! What's the matter? You look as sad as a low comedian by
daylight!" Previous to this salutation came a ringing slap on the
left shoulder.

Marcus rather liked familiarities; but the slap, coming on him when his
nerves were unstrung, startled him. He turned sharply; but the stern
and indignant face wreathed into amiable smiles, when he saw that the
lively gentleman behind him was only Wesley Tiffles. Everybody liked
Wesley Tiffles; even those who bore the burden of his unlucky financial
schemes uniting in cheerful testimony to his charming, companionable
qualities. His presence was like a ray of sunlight to Marcus Wilkeson's
beclouded mind; and when Wesley Tiffles hooked an arm in his (as he did
to everybody on the second day of their acquaintance), Marcus felt his
perplexities passing away from him, like electricity on a
conducting rod.

Wesley Tiffles and his single diamond (the latter from the background of
a third day's shirt) shone on him together; and Marcus laughed
merrily in reply:

"I don't look sad now," said he. "I'm glad to see you, Tiffles. What are
you driving at _now_, eh?"

This qu