l Alley. It was dark, chill and deserted. Lights
shone through the cracks of one window at the far end, but the studio
which was his Mecca was rayless.

Jimmy stood for a long time in front of it, staring up at its darkened
windows, and derided himself for his pangs of disappointment.

"This can't go on any longer," he told himself, savagely. "To-morrow
I've just got to know Mary Allen's real name. I'm a big enough man
now--prospectively at least--to dare to walk into that Martha Putnam
hotel, glare at the ogress who guards the pearly gates, and tell her to
send my card up to Miss So-and-so and to step lively. Here I am, just
bubbling over with glad news like a tin tea kettle on a red hot stove
spouting steam, and I can't go uptown to that hotel and send up my card
because I've never had the courage to ask her real name. I've been a
coward all along, but now it's got to stop."

Nevertheless he did return to the uptown precincts and for a long time
stood guard in front of the distinguished woman's caravanserai, hoping
against all common sense that Mary Allen might appear. He remembered
reading an article in a Sunday newspaper on telepathy, and stood across
the street frowning at the Martha Putnam and concentrating his mind on
the object of his adoration, and beseeching her to come to the
elevator, and thence down into the cold street in response to his great
desire. But somehow the telepathy stuff didn't work at all according to
propaganda. He shut his eyes and tried more earnestly until aroused by a
voice. "Hey! You can't sleep in that doorway. Move on! Wiggle your
stumps!"

A fat policeman stood regarding him. Jimmy was discouraged, for he knew
that any policeman, anywhere, is an unfeeling wretch, who, if he met the
great god Cupid on the street, would promptly arrest that light of the
world for indecent exposure and perhaps carry him to the nearest station
by the tips of his golden wings as if he were but a vagrant chicken
destined for the sergeant's pot.

"Come! Fade away!" the enemy ordered, belligerently.

And Mr. James Gollop, crestfallen, faded.

CHAPTER XIV

At exactly three-thirty o'clock on the following day in the Engineers'
Club the taciturn Mr. Martin, after some further questioning, took from
his pocket a contract and duplicate that assured Mr. James Gollop
employment.

"I've been in a peculiar situation in this affair," said Martin. "I've
had to fight against some personal likings and i