te-like alto, more suitable--Suddenly an idea sprang to life
within his brain. The idea grew. Passing a barber's shop, Johnny went
in.

"'Air cut, sir?" remarked the barber, fitting a sheet round Johnny's
neck.

"No, shave," corrected Johnny.

"Beg pardon," said the barber, substituting a towel for the sheet. "Do
you shave up, sir?" later demanded the barber.

"Yes," answered Johnny.

"Pleasant weather we are having," said the barber.

"Very," assented Johnny.

From the barber's, Johnny went to Stinchcombe's, the costumier's, in
Drury Lane.

"I am playing in a burlesque," explained the Babe. "I want you to rig me
out completely as a modern girl."

"Peeth o' luck!" said the shopman. "Goth the very bundle for you. Juth
come in."

"I shall want everything," explained the Babe, "from the boots to the
hat; stays, petticoats--the whole bag of tricks."

"Regular troutheau there," said the shopman, emptying out the canvas bag
upon the counter. "Thry 'em on."

The Babe contented himself with trying on the costume and the boots.

"Juth made for you!" said the shopman.

A little loose about the chest, suggested the Babe.

"Thath's all right," said the shopman. "Couple o' thmall towelths, all
thath's wanted."

"You don't think it too showy?" queried the Babe.

"Thowy? Sthylish, thath's all."

"You are sure everything's here?"

"Everythinkth there. 'Thept the bit o' meat inthide," assured him the
shopman.

The Babe left a deposit, and gave his name and address. The shopman
promised the things should be sent round within an hour. The Babe, who
had entered into the spirit of the thing, bought a pair of gloves and a
small reticule, and made his way to Bow Street.

"I want a woman's light brown wig," said the Babe to Mr. Cox, the
perruquier.

Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the second Mr. Cox
pronounced as perfect.

"Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed if it doesn't!"
said Mr. Cox.

The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of completeness
descended upon the Babe. On his way back to his lodgings in Great Queen
Street, he purchased a ladylike umbrella and a veil.

Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his exit by the
door of Mr. Stinchcombe's shop, one, Harry Bennett, actor and member of
the Autolycus Club, pushed it open and entered. The shop was empty.
Harry Bennett hammered with his stick and waited. A piled-up bundl