Mr. Addicks politely controlled a yawn and viewed Fudge with puzzlement. Then he scratched his head, picked up a tattered dressing-gown and slipped into it and, seating himself on the bed, thrust his hands into the pockets of the robe and spoke.
"Look here, boys, what is this?" he asked plaintively. "I'm an awful poor performer before breakfast."
"But—but you said you were going last night!" said Fudge accusingly. "And we saw you playing the piano at the theater! Why, they might have nabbed you any minute!"
Mr. Addicks shook his head. "I was disguised," he replied.
"That's no disguise," said Fudge contemptuously. "You're taking awful chances, sir. Couldn't you get away now before they start to look for you?"
"Before I've had my breakfast?" demanded the man weakly.
"Well, wouldn't you rather go without breakfast than have it in jail?" inquired Fudge impatiently. "If you start right now you might get the seven-forty train. I don't believe they'd be watching the station so early, sir!"
Mr. Addicks' expression became gravely curi-
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