would be glad, sor, to get out of this rookery."

Felix nodded in assent, waited until the leather trunk
had been dumped into the wagon, watched Mike remount
the stairs until he had reached his landing,
helped him to load up the balance of his luggage--the
tin box on one shoulder, the coat over the other, the
hat-case in the free hand--and then walked back to
his empty room. Here he made a thoughtful survey
of the dismal place in which he had spent so many
months, picked up his blackthorn stick, and, leaving
the door ajar, walked slowly down-stairs, his hand on
the rail as a guide in the dark.

"And you aren't comin' back, sir?" remarked the
landlady, who had listened for his steps.

"That, madame, one never can tell."

"Well, you are always welcome."

"Thank you--good-by."

"Good-by, sir; my husband's out or he would like
to shake your hand."

O'Day bowed slightly and stepped into the street, his
stick under his arm, his hands hooked behind his back.
That he had no immediate purpose in view was evident
from the way he loitered along, stopping to look at