to-morrow at six and dine with us, en famille; and then if the ladies
can't amuse you afterward I'll stand in with a few games of
billiards."

This was said with so bright a smile and so engaging a manner that I
had not the heart to refuse, and although I had never seen the man in
my life I promptly replied: "You are very good, sir, and it will
give me great pleasure to accept the invitation. Please present my
compliments to Mrs. Margovan and ask her to expect me."

With a shake of the hand and a pleasant parting word the man passed
on. That he had mistaken me for my brother was plain enough. That
was an error to which I was accustomed and which it was not my habit
to rectify unless the matter seemed important. But how had I known
that this man's name was Margovan? It certainly is not a name that
one would apply to a man at random, with a probability that it would
be right. In point of fact, the name was as strange to me as the
man.

The next morning I hastened to where my brother was employed and met
him coming out of the office with a number of bills that he was to
collect. I told him how I had "committed" him and added that if he
didn't care to keep the engagement I should be delighted to continue
the impersonation.

"That's queer," he said thoughtfully. "Margovan is the only man in
the office here whom I know well and like. When he came in this
morning and we had passed the usual greetings some singular impulse
prompted me to say: 'Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Margovan, but I
neglected to ask your address.' I got the address, but what under