The Window-Gazer

t time of the year was not an unreasonable happening and the professor was a reasonable man. It wasn't the fog he blamed so much as the swiftness of its arrival. Fifteen minutes ago the

wilderness of wharves, a feat upon which Mr. Johnston, making

"Hours it takes 'em sometimes, sometimes days." It was clear tha

t itself. And Mr. Johnston had lost himself, and the city and the streets of it, and the sea and its ships were all lost-there was nothing left anywhere save

l man never to allow himself to shiver; and here he was, shivering violently without so much as asking his own leave. And the fog crept closer. He put out his hands to push it back-a

would leave Johnston's wharf at 5 o'clock, or there-abouts, Mondays and Fridays. Mr. Johnston had felt very uncertain about this. "Though she does happen along

sor Spence, "would y

e," said Mr. Johnston. "Doesn't come n

he fog come in. Its incredible advance, wave upon wave of massed and silent whiteness, had held him

ould go as quick

t fatalism, product of a brief but lurid career in Flemish trenches, he resigned himself to wait. The keg was dry, that was something, and

g to a web of tissue. Suddenly, while he watched, a lane broke through. He saw clearly the piles at the wharf's end, a glimpse of dark water,

ad been no woman sitting on it then. "Anyway," he reflected, "I don't know her and I won't have to speak to her." The thought warmed him so that he almost forgot to shiver. From which

egan to lift. Swiftly, before the puff of a warmer breeze, it eddied and thinned. Its soundless, impalpable pressure lessened. The wharf, the sea, the city began to steal back, sly, expressionless, pretending that they

l Mr. Johnston. "This here is Doc. Farr's boy. He's going right

e of the "boy" reputed to belong to Dr. Farr. How old he was no one could have guessed. The yellow parchment of his face was ageless; ageless also the in

ly informed me that this was the wharf at which his launch usually-er-tied up. But-

ss the Narrows somewheres. Used to live here in Vancouver years ago but now he don't honor us mu

the question but pon

be the same person," he said. "B

"Ah, he'd do that, all right," grinned Mr. Johnst

professor offered his hand cordially.

," said Mr. Johnston. "Miss Farr's d

all too patent. He turned haunted eyes toward the

No likee!" said the Chinaman

eaking countenance, he continued blandly-"Very well, let us not keep the lady waiting. Es

ere steps and beneath the steps a small floating platform to which was secured what the professor afterwards described as "a marine vehicle, cla

ing me," said the professor. "I

wet," said the person in t

acefully. But it landed him in the boat. The Chinaman was already in his place.

e professor as soon as he

ha

sier to refer to it in conversation if one knew its na

companion. He could have sworn that there was cool amusement in her tone. "I see your diffic

ute it!" said

ckage of letters even now in the pocket of his coat. These letters were real and sensible enough. They comprised his correspondence with one Dr. Herbert Farr, Vancouver, B. C. As letters they were quite charming. The earlier ones had dealt with the professor's pet subject, primitive psycholo

is a secretary?"

red the green c

ng daughter

imple wants?'

Chinese servant, a fac

ve already

the professor,

es

e must be a home, though," he asserte

e green cloak, "it is rather pictu

oung laugh. The professor felt reliev

o' amusing?" she

. He was very cold. "I beg your pardon,"

e no illusions. But perhaps it isn't so bad after all. He really is quite an aut

quandary. But perfect fr

"I am a psychologist. I wish to do my own observing, at first

D WIT

ned to him and he saw her face, young,

o my wants, however simple. Neither can I share the services of a secretary whose post, I gather, is an

silent for so long that Spence bec

cted to get out of it. He might know that you would not stay. He wouldn't want you to stay. I can't understand-unless," her

bserving his boots

feet are very we

ater," she said coldly. "But that isn't answering my

fessor

e offered. "Especially if one's prospective host is

. "It means that father has simply done you brown. Oh, well, it's your own fault. You're old enough to know your way abo

ted the profess

asked, disdaining to ans

mb to warm you," she told

ing gently from salt water toward snowclad peaks, which,

ly. "And none too soon! I suppose you haven't notic