They crossed Broad Street and Roger started off down Chestnut. Aubrey
saw the bookseller halt in a doorway to light his pipe, and stopped
some yards behind him to look up at the statue of William Penn on the
City Hall. It was a blustery day, and at that moment a gust of wind
whipped off his hat and sent it spinning down Broad Street. He ran
half a block before he recaptured it. When he got back to Chestnut,
Roger had disappeared. He hurried down Chestnut Street, bumping
pedestrians in his eagerness, but at Thirteenth he halted in dismay.
Nowhere could he see a sign of the little bookseller. He appealed to
the policeman at that corner, but learned nothing. Vainly he scoured
the block and up and down Juniper Street. It was eleven o'clock, and
the streets were thronged.

He cursed the book business in both hemispheres, cursed himself, and
cursed Philadelphia. Then he went into a tobacconist's and bought a
packet of cigarettes.

For an hour he patrolled up and down Chestnut Street, on both sides of
the way, thinking he might possibly encounter Roger. At the end of
this time he found himself in front of a newspaper office, and
remembered that an old friend of his was an editorial writer on the
staff. He entered, and went up in the elevator.

He found his friend in a small grimy den, surrounded by a sea of
papers, smoking a pipe with his feet on the table. They greeted each
other joyfully.

"Well, look who's here!" cried the facetious journalist. "Tamburlaine
the Great, and none other! What brings you to this distant outpost?"

Aubrey grinned at the use of his old college nickname.

"I've come to lunch with you, and borrow enough money to get home with."

"On Monday?" cried the other. "Tuesday being the day of stipend in
these quarters? Nay, say not so!"

They lunched together at a quiet Italian restaurant, and Aubrey
narrated tersely the adventures of the past few days. The newspaper
man smoked pensively when the story was concluded.

"I'd like to see the girl," he said. "Tambo, your tale hath the ring
of sincerity. It is full of sound and fury, but it signifieth
something. You say your man is a second-hand bookseller?"

"Yes."

"Then I know where you'll find him."

"Nonsense!"

"It's worth trying. Go up to Leary's, 9 South Ninth. It's right on
this street. I'll show you."

"Let's go," said Aubrey promptly.

"Not only that," said the other, "but I'll lend you my last V. Not for
y