had already an effect upon the advocate. Those luscious tones had dispelled his comatose condition. And who should say, after all, that this was not the genie; at least, here was the living embodiment of success, that jovial and gigantic swaggerer. What a smugness and sagacity were in the heavy inflections of this prosperous man! "A fellow is not fit to pare his own nails when he's sharp-set, and I had my chop at a quarter-past one," he chuckled, as he watched the advocate grappling with his boots. "Now, on with your hat, and we'll take a cab to I know where."
"As you will," said the young man, reaching for his hat.
A reaction was stealing along his veins. Already his passionate despair had begun to cower. It looked like wizardry that one so famous should have been borne in person, dinnerless, at ten o'clock at night, up flight after flight of dark stairs, to the crazy fifth floor of that decrepit building in quest of one so poor and so obscure.
"I am sure you are the genie," said Northcote, carrying the lamp to the door to light the distinguished visitor to the head of the rickety stairs. "Strike a match, sir, if you respect your neck."
Northcote turned the key of his door, and Mr. Whitcomb descended, step by step, in a gingerly fashion.
"If there is the slightest fear," said Northcote, pressing on behind the solicitor, "of burning your fingers with that match, I shall urge you not to stop to examine the array of old masters that line this perfectly damnable staircase of mine."
"Is that an 'Adoration of the Magi' above me
