“I represent the financial interests of our city,” Wrong Number replied. “You want to go the limit in dressing up the automobiles; make ’em look like Fourth o’ July in your native O’Learyo. Where do we doll ’em up, Pete?” A garage of a friend in the next block would serve admirably and Peterson promised to co-operate with Bensaris in doing the job properly. “Tail coat and two-gallon hat for Mr. Bensaris,” said Wrong Number. “Pete, you look after that.” He pressed cash upon Mr. Bensaris and noted the amount in his book. “We’ll call it a heat,” he said, and went uptown to pilot Mr. Webster G. Burgess to a ten round match for points between two local amateurs that was being pulled off behind closed doors in an abandoned skating rink. III The Illyrian Commission had just breakfasted when their train reached Farrington on the State line, where the Mayor of the capital city, Mr. Clarence E. Tibbotts, _alias_ Wrong Number, and Mr. Zoloff Bensaris, all in shining hats, boarded the train. Having studied the portraits of the distinguished Illyrians in a Sunday supplement provided by Mr. Tibbotts, Mr. Bensaris effected the introductions without an error, and having been carefully coached by the same guide he did not handle his two-gallon hat as though it were a tray of chocolate sundaes. The kindness of the mayor and his associates in coming so far to meet the Commission deeply touched the visitors. The Fourth Assistant Secretary of State, who was doing the honors of the American government, heard without emotion of the slight changes in the programme. “We thought the Commission would be tired of the train,” explained Wrong Number, who was relieved to find that his cutaway was of the same vintage as the Fourth Assistant Secretary’s; “so we get off at the first stop this side of town and motor in.” “Luncheon at Mr. Gurley’s,” said the Secretary, consulting a sheaf of telegrams. “Had to change that, too,” said Wrong Number carelessly; “they have scarlet fever at the Gurleys. The Webster G. Burgesses will throw the luncheon.” The Secretary made a note of the change and thrust his papers into his pocket. Mr. Tibbotts handed round his cigarette case, a silver trinket bearing “Lord Templeton’s” head in enamel relief, a Christmas gift from Mr. Webster G. Burgess, and joined in a discussion of the morning’s news from the Balkans, where the Illyrian troops were acquitting themselves with the highest credit.