he is with his top hat and eyeglass. He's that dossy you wouldn't know him. He's dressed up like a tailor's dummy."
But Joe declined to budge.
"It fairly makes me sick to think of the feller," he said.
A little later, when the tumult in the street had died down a bit, Joe settled himself in his chair for an afternoon nap. Eliza, duly noting the symptoms, retired on tiptoe to another room, closing the door after her gently. But today, alas, the skyey influences were adverse. Joe had barely entered oblivion when a smart tap at the street door shattered this precarious peace. With a grudge against society he rose once more, shambled across the room and flung open the door, half expecting to find that the urchin had returned to torment him. A dramatic surprise was in store. On the threshold was a creature so stylishly trim that even the blasé eye of the Metropolitan Force was sensibly thrilled in beholding her. "A bit of class" without a doubt, although adorned by the colors of the People's Candidate, and surprisingly cool in sheer defiance of the thermometer.
"Good afternoon!" The tone of half-confidential intimacy was quite irresistible. "May I have a little talk with you?"
"Certainly, miss." The unconscious gallantry of an impressionable policeman was more than equal to the occasion. "Step inside and make yourself at home."
When Joe came to review the incident afterwards, it seemed very surprising that he should have yielded so easily to the impact of this elegant miss. For instinctively he knew her business. Moreover, the last thing
