J. Archibald McKackney
tried to scramble to my knees my hand fell upon volume fifteen. The gilded lettering gleamed like fire. In a flash I recognized it as the book I sought. Tucking it under my arm I made one spring for the nearest open window. Not even my coat-tails touched as I flew through it like a bird. Climbing into my buggy I drove pell-mell toward Burlington, and as the vehicle spun into the highway on one wheel I heard the sounds of battle raging in Mr. Jonas Harding's parlor.
While I steered my galloping steed with one hand I opened the book between my knees. Alas, my gallant struggle had been in vain. The royal whisker was still missing. I was reasonably sure that Pillsover had not examined this book when I fell upon it, and therefore there was nothing to do but hasten in pursuit of the third book-case.
Pillsover was covering ground with fairly infernal energy, I will say that much for him. In fact I was in the library of the third consignee, in Harrisburg, when I saw him dash up the front steps. My host had promised
