opposite to see if he would "pass muster" in a crowd. "Guess I'm all
right," he exclaimed, stroking his fingers through the masses of
chestnut curls that clung so prettily around his well-shaped head.

"Halloo, Tracy, not going so soon? The night's young yet, boy! Come,
sit down and have some of the 'rosy,'" shouted a rubicund-faced
youth, with a generous proportion of carrotty hair crowning his low
flat forehead.

"Sit down Tracy," exclaimed another, slapping him on the back by way
of accompaniment to the words: "We'll not go home till morning,"
which song the whole company began to roar in a style more forcible
than artistic.

When the last strains of music had spent its force and a general
interchange of silly speeches had been made, the young man once more
rose to go, but a youth with broad Scotch accent seized him by the
arm exclaiming: "Don't go yet, Tracy dear; for if ye do, ye need'nt
come back here."

"A poet of the first water," cried a voice from behind, at which all
joined in another roar of laughter, which reached its climax when a
feminine-looking youth exclaimed, "What a pity the government have
not discovered such talent! they would surely have him for poet
laureate."

Before quiet was again restored Tracy took advantage of the occasion
to cover his retreat, and hastily gained a small side entrance which
led to the suspicious-looking alley not many yards from a very
public thoroughfare. Having reached the street without any serious