was marching head in air along the gravel in front of them. One shoulder was a little higher than its neighbor, his clothes looked shabby in the sun of July, his gait was slightly grotesque, yet upon his face was a smile of rare complacency. In one hand he held a small girl of five, and in the other a small boy to match her; and that may have been why at this precise moment he looked as if he had just acquired a controlling interest in the planet. And yet there must have been some deeper, subtler reason for this young man's air of power mingled with beatitude.
Rather mean of mansion as he was, it was impossible for two shrewd spectators of the human comedy on the Park chairs to ignore him as he swung gayly by. In spite of his impossible hat and his weird trousers, the mere look on his face was almost cosmic in its significance, he was so clearly on terms with heaven. But in any case he would have forcibly entered their scheme of existence. Just as he came level with them he chanced to lower his gaze abruptly and by doing so caught the fascinated eyes of Mary fixed upon his face.
"Good morning, Miss Lawrence. What a nice day!"
He was not in a position to take off his hat, but he enforced a hearty greeting with a superb bow, and passed jauntily on.
The Tenderfoot could not help being amused. "Who's your friend?" He turned a quizzical eye upon a countenance glowing with mischief.
"That's Alf."
"In the name of all that's wonderful, who is Alf?" The tone was expostulation all compact, but as mirth was
