ed to him that that bed must
have been predestined for him. Without a thought for the morrow he
jumped into it, pulled the coverlid over his head and went fast asleep.

"Meanwhile, at tea time Mrs. De Lancy Witherspoon arrived for the
week-end. Bibby, the butler, followed by Stocking, the second man,
bearing the hand luggage, escorted the guest to the Bouguereau Room, as
the pink-silk chamber is called."

Mr. Bonnie Doon, carried away by his own powers of description, waved
his hand dramatically at the old leather couch against the side wall,
in which Weary Willy was supposed to be reclining.

"Can't you see 'em?" he declaimed. "The haughty Bibby with nose in air,
preceding the great dame of fashion, enters the pink room and comes to
attention, 'This way, madam!' he declaims, and Mrs. Witherspoon sweeps
across the threshold." Bonnie Doon, picking up an imaginary skirt,
waddled round Mr. Tutt and approached the couch. Suddenly he started
back.

"Oh, la, la!" he half shrieked, dancing about. "There is a man in the
bed!"

Both Tutts stared hard at the couch as if fully expecting to see the
form of Weary Willy thereon. Bonnie Doon had a way of making things
appear very vivid.

"And sure enough," he concluded, "there underneath the coverlid in the
middle of the bed was a huddled heap with a stubby beard projecting like
Excalibur from a pink silk lake!"

"Excuse me," interrupted Tutt. "But may I ask what this is all about?"

"Why, your new case, to be sure," grinned Bonnie, who, had he been
employed by any other firm, might have run the risk of being regarded as
an ambulance chaser. "To make a long and tragic story short, they sent
for the watchman, whistled for a policeman, telephoned for the hurry-up
wagon, and haled the sleeper away to prison--where he is now, waiting
to be tried."

"Tried!" ejaculated Mr. Tutt. "What for?"

"For crime, to be sure," answered Mr. Doon.

"What crime?"

"I don't know. They'll find one, of course."

Mr. Tutt swiftly lowered his legs from the desk and brought his fist
down upon it with a bang.

"Outrageous! What was I just telling you, Tutt!" he cried, a flush
coming into his wrinkled face. "This poor man is a victim of the
overzealousness which the officers of the law exhibit in protecting the
privileges and property of the rich. If John De Puyster Hepplewhite fell
asleep in somebody's vestibule the policeman on post would send him home
in a cab; but if a hungry tramp does t