hing the suggestion of a twinkle in
the Harkness eye which, of course, should not be in a Forsyth butler's
eye at all.

CHAPTER IV

RED-ROBIN

For twenty-five years Cornelius Allendyce had worn nothing but black
ties. On the morning of his contemplated invasion of Patchin Place in
search of a Forsyth heir he knotted a lavender scarf about his neck and
felt oddly excited. Such a sudden and unexplainable impulse, he thought,
must portend adventure.

With a notion that all artists were "at home" at tea time, Mr. Allendyce
waited until four o'clock before he approached his agreeable task. At
the door of 22 Patchin Place he dismissed his taxicab and stood for a
moment surveying the dilapidated front of the building--with a moment's
mental picture of the magnificent pile that was Gray Manor.

A pretentious though slightly soiled register just inside the doorway,
told him that "James Forsyth" lived on the fifth floor, so the little
man toiled resolutely up the narrow, steep stairway, puffing as he
ascended. It was necessary to count the landings to know, in the dimness
of the hallway, when he reached the fifth floor. He had to pause outside
the door to catch his breath; a moment's nausea seized him at the smell
of stale food and damp walls.

But at his knock the door swung back upon so much sunshine and color
that the little man blinked in amazement. A mite of a girl with a halo
of sun-red hair smiled at him in a very friendly fashion.

"Does Mr. James Forsyth live here?" It seemed almost ridiculous to ask
the question for surely it must be some witch's cranny upon which he had
stumbled.

"Yes. But Jimmie isn't home. Won't you come in?"

Mr. Allendyce stared about the room--a big room, its size enhanced by
the great glass windows and the glass skylight. Everywhere bloomed
flowers in gayly painted boxes and pots and tubs. And after another
blink Mr. Allendyce perceived that there were a few real chairs, very
shabby, and a table covered with a cloth woven in brilliant colors and
some very lovely pictures hanging wherever, because of the windows and
the sloping roof, there was any place to hang them.

The young girl closed the door, whereupon there came a gay chirping from
birds perching, the bewildered lawyer discovered, in various places
around the room quite as though this corner of a tenement was a
woodland.

"Hush, Bo, hush. They're dreadfully noisy. They love company. Won't you
sit down?"

Mr. Allen