"All varieties," replied her prospective lodger cheerfully. "I will
bring 'em to-morrow with my grip."

For five successive evenings thereafter Average Jones sat in the
senile house, awaiting personal response to the following
advertisement which he had inserted in the Universal:

WANTED--B-flat trombonist. Must
have had experience as street player.
Apply between 8 and 10 p. m. R--,
300 East 100th Street.

Between the ebb and flow of applicant musicians he read exhaustively
upon the unallied subjects of trombones and high explosives, or
talked with his landlady, who proved to be a sociable person, not
disinclined to discuss the departed guest. "Ransom," his supplanter
learned, had come light and gone light. Two dress suit cases had
sufficed to bring in all his belongings. He went out but little,
and then, she opined with a disgustful sniff, for purposes strictly
alcoholic. Parcels came for him occasionally. These were usually
labeled "Glass. Handle with care." Oh! there was one other thing.
A huge, easy arm-chair from Carruthers and Company, mighty luxurious
for an eight-dollar lodger.

"Did he take that with him?" asked Average Jones.

"No. After he had been here a while he had a man come in and box it
up. He must have sent it away, but I never saw it go."