s Marcus Wilkeson regarded him--was not again seen
in the room where he had made his first appearance, but was discovered,
several days after that event, sitting at a table near a window in the
second story, and writing industriously. His labors were evidently not
disagreeable; for, after an hour's engagement with his pen, he would sit
back in his chair, laugh, take a long drink from a black bottle which
stood at his elbow, and light a fresh cigar. Whatever his occupation, he
was completely absorbed in it, and did not notice the pair of keen eyes
peering at him from behind a book in the house opposite. Every
afternoon, about three o'clock, the young man sat at the table with his
bottle, cigars, and writing materials, and pursued his pleasant labors.

Marcus Wilkeson would never have pretended that it was not highly
improper to watch one's neighbors. He would have denounced it as
deserving of the severest reprobation. But he would have said, that if,
while he was sitting, according to his invariable custom, at his own
window, for the sole purpose of reading a book, people chose to bring
themselves within the range of his vision, he was not therefore under
obligations to vacate his seat. He would have insisted that any glances
which he might have directed at his neighbors, were so levelled in fits
of mental abstraction, or in the exercise of a friendly regard for them.
The Overtop theory he discarded as fallacious, and likely to get its
talented founder into trouble.

That founder and his only follower, Maltboy, were determined, however,
to put the new social system into practice on New Year's day, and had
secured the ready services of Quigg, the grocer, as originally proposed
by the sagacious Overtop. Marcus Wilkeson obstinately refused to
participate in this projected grand tour; which refusal was too bad,
said Overtop, because the fourth seat in the double sleigh that had been
hired for the occasion would be left vacant.

At last came New Year's day; and the sky was cloudless, and the sun was
bright, and the weather was just cold enough to make the blood tingle
pleasantly, and the snow was a foot deep, and well beaten down in the
side streets. The elements themselves had conspired to give the Overtop
theory every chance of success.

J.M. Quigg, grocer, was elaborately attiring himself in the snug
sleeping room behind his store, at ten o'clock on the morning of the
eventful day. He little knew the tremendous importan