eslie's
forehead and cheeks, artistically throwing in a few wrinkles on the
former and neatly executed crows-feet under the eyes, in water-colors
that dried as soon as applied. Leslie, by the aid of a glass, saw
himself getting old, a little more plainly than most of us recognize
the ravages made on our faces by time.

"By George!" he said. "Stop!--hold on!--don't make those crows-feet any
plainer, or I shall begin to get weak in the back and shaky in the
knees, and you will need to supply me with a cane."

"They will come off easier than the next ones painted there, probably!"
commented the philosophical costumer, as he finished painting up his
human sign. "And now for the finishing stroke!" He stepped to a drawer,
took out a gray full-bottom beard, fitted it neatly to the chin, clasped
the springs back of the ears, added to it a gray wig, made easy-fitting
by the short hair on the head, and once more handed Leslie the glass.

The young man looked. The last vestige of youth had departed, and he
appeared as he might have expected to do thirty years later when he had
touched sixty and gone on downward.

"Capital!" he said--"capital! If any man, or woman, knows me behind this
disguise, there is some reason beyond nature for their doing so.
There--throw me a hat--anything unlike my own--for I have already
remained too long. I will see you again some time this evening." Handing
the costumer a bill, with the air of one who had taken such
accommodations before and knew what they cost, Leslie put on a
respectable looking speckled Leghorn hat brought from the back room,
took one more glance at his metamorphosis in the glass, and passed
hurriedly out into the street and down Broadway towards Taylor's.

To return to that place for a few moments, after Tom Leslie had left it
and before he was again heard from.

Josephine Harris sat for perhaps five minutes after the chocolate was
brought, toying with the spoon and the cup, a little consciously red in
face, and saying never a word--an amount of reticence quite as unusual
for her, as ice in summer. Bell Crawford made two or three remarks, and
she answered them with "Ah!" and "Humph!" till the other pouted a little
sullenly and said no more.

At length the wayward girl shoved aside her cup, stopped nibbling a
bon-bon, planted one elbow on the table, leaned her chin on her hand,
and looked her companion full in the face with a comic earnestness that
was very laughable.

"Bel