like a good fellow, for I have
only five minutes."

"You will not need to change your pants, I think," said the costumer.
"Throw off your coat--here is one that will button close and hide your
vest, and I think you will find it about your size. Yours is a
gray--this is a dark brown and rather a genteel garment, and will suit
the gray pants."

Leslie threw off his coat and put on the brown substitute, which fitted
him very respectably.

"That is enough in the way of clothes, I should think," remarked the
costumer, "unless you should be dodging a _very_ sharp woman, or one of
Kennedy's men."

"It _is_ a sharp woman I am trying to dodge," said Leslie, with a laugh,
"but I think she will know very little about my clothes. The face--the
face is the thing! Make me up so that you don't know me--so that I won't
know myself--so that my wife, if I had one, would scream for a policeman
if I attempted to kiss her."

"Yes, the face--that is what we are coming to," replied the costumer.
"You have a moustache already. That we cannot very well cut off, I
suppose."

"Not if I know it!" graphically but somewhat inelegantly said Tom, who
had one of his many prides hidden away somewhere in the flowing sweep of
that ornament to the upper lip.

"Then we must gray it!" said the costumer. "No objection to looking a
little older?"

"Make me as old as Dr. Parr or old Galen's head, if you like," was the
answer. "Only be quick, for the sauciest and best-looking girl in New
York is waiting for me."

"To run away and be married? eh?" asked the costumer, as he went to a
shelf and took down a cup of some preparation very like paint, and with
it a brush. "None of my business, though! Hold still, and never mind the
smell. It will be dry in two minutes, and water will not touch it, but
you can clean it out at once with turpentine." He applied the mixture to
Leslie's moustache, the member over it being drawn up considerably at
times as if the bouquet of one of Hackley's summer gutters was rising;
but in less than two minutes, as the costumer had said, the smell
ceased, the mixture was dry, and Tom Leslie had a moustache
grayish-white enough to have belonged to Sulpizio.

"Beautiful!" said the costumer, handing the subject a small mirror from
the wall. "The hair and beard directly. Now for a complexion old enough
to suit such a facial ornament." In a moment, he had a small cup of
brown paint, with a camel's-hair brush, and was operating on L