There were few places, Average Jones held, where human nature in the rough can be studied to better advantage than in the stifling tunnels of the subway or the close-packed sardine boxes of the metropolitan surface lines. It was in pursuance of this theory that he encountered the Westerner, on Third avenue car. By custom, Average Jones picked out the most interesting or unusual human being in any assembly where he found himself, for study and analysis. This man was peculiar in that he alone was not perspiring in the sodden August humidity. The clear-browned skin and the rangy strength of the figure gave him a certain distinction. He held in his sinewy hands a doubly folded newspaper. Presently it slipped from his hold to the seat beside him. He stared at the window opposite with harassed and unseeing eyes. Abruptly he rose and went out on the platform. Average Jones picked up the paper. In the middle of the column to which it was folded was a marked advertisement: ARE you in an embarrassing position? Anything, anywhere, any time, regardless of nature or location. Everybody’s friend. Consultation at all hours. Suite 152, Owl Building, Brooklyn. The car was nearing Brooklyn Bridge. Average Jones saw his man drop lightly off. He followed and at the bridge entrance caught him up. “You’ve left your paper,” he said. The stranger whirled quickly. “Right,” he said. “Thanks. Perhaps you can tell me where the Owl Building is.” “Are you going there?” “Yes.” “I wouldn’t.” A slight wrinkle of surprise appeared on the man’s tanned forehead. “Perhaps _you_ wouldn’t,” he returned coolly. “In other words, ‘mind your business’,” said Average Jones, with a smile. “Something of that sort,” admitted the stranger. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t consult with Everbody’s Friend over in the Owl Building.” “Er—because—er—if I may speak plainly,” drawled Average Jones, “I wouldn’t risk a woman’s name with a gang of blackmailers.” “You’ve got your nerve,” retorted the stranger. The keen eyes, flattening almost to slits, fixed on the impassive face of the other. “Well, I’ll go you,” he decided, after a moment. His glance swept the range of vision and settled upon a rathskeller sign. “Come over there where we can talk.” They crossed the grilling roadway, and, being wise in the heat, ordered “soft” drinks. “Now,” said the stranger, “you’ve declared in on my game. Make good. What’s your interest?” “None, personally. I like your looks, that’s all,” replied the other frankly. “And I don’t like to see you run into that spider’s web.” “You know them?” “Twice in the last year I’ve made ’em change their place of business.” “But you don’t know me. And you spoke of a woman.”