of all appeared the heads of the two Misses
Pound in the hallway outside, uttering simultaneously, with many
deprecatory little bobs, the same words, to the effect that they
thought perhaps some one was hurt, all of which only increased the
wrath of Ogla-Moga, more than ever convinced that something was wrong.

"You no belong here!" he cried, swinging his arms wildly about. "This
wigwam belongs gray squaw!"

Miss Josephine always persisted in believing that Ogla-Moga had first
gone to the Pound door, and that the Misses Pound, who knew only too
well that Mr. Margent was calling upon her, had sent him to the other.
But if it were true, she had a real woman's revenge. She had no sooner
descried them in the doorway than with wonderful presence of mind she
fainted straight into Mr. Margent's arms, much to that gentleman's
astonishment. It was a master-stroke. The Misses Pound disappeared as
suddenly as if they had been pictures from a magic lantern, and had
been slid off the screen. Mrs. Ayr at once looked more cheerful, and
Mr. Ayr began an insane effort to remove Ogla-Moga from the premises,
in which it would have gone ill with him had it not been for a sudden
vision of curl-papers and gray hair behind the Indian. His name was
called in a voice he was accustomed to hear, he turned away, the door
was banged to upon his heels, and the tableau closed.

The very next day Mrs. Gottom of the third floor back was to
give a dinner party to the distinguished Italian musician, Signor
Barbazzo. Mrs. Gottom was known among the irreverent young men of her
acquaintance as "the menagerie woman." Her favorite exclamation was,
"I must have a fresh lion," and visitors to her apartment were always
sure of beholding the latest leonine specimens landed on these shores.
Signor Barbazzo's freshness made him a _rarus leo_. He was famous, and
all the world was waiting for him, but he had not yet appeared in
public. As a cruel fate would have it, Mrs. Gottom fell sick the very
day set for the dinner, and was compelled to resign her place as
hostess to her pretty and simple-hearted niece, Miss Tristan, who had
never seen Signor Barbazzo. As fate would also have it, that gentleman
himself fell sick, and being in the habit of doing as he pleased among
the barbarians of the West, sent no excuses. As fate would still have
it, Ogla-Moga, taking the wrong door as usual, strolled into Mrs.
Gottom's drawing-room, which happened to be empty, about an hou