That rude abruptness drove his other name out of my mind; and as I saw I never should be able to think of it with the policeman standing there cowing me with his eye, that way, it seemed to me best to get out a name of some kind, so as to avert further suspicion, therefore I brought out the first one which came into my mind, which was John--another error. The policeman turned purple--apparently with a sense of injury and insult--and said there were a million John Smiths in New York, and _which_ one was this? Also what did I want with Smith? I could not remember--the overcoat was gone out of my mind. So I told him he was a pupil of mine and that I was giving him lessons in morals; moral culture--a new system. That was a lucky hit, anyway. I was merely despicable, now, to the policeman, but harmless--I could see it in his eye. He looked me over a moment then said: “You give him lessons, do you?” “Yes, sir.” “How long have you been giving him lessons?” “Two years, next month.” I was getting my wind again, and confidence. “Which house does he live in?” “That one--the middle one in the block.” “Then what did you ask _me_ for, a minute ago?” I did not see my way out. He waited for an answer, but got tired before I could think of one that would fit the case and said: “How is it that you haven’t an overcoat on, such a day as this?” “I--well, I never wear them. It doesn’t seem cold to me.” He thought awhile, with his eye on me, then said, with a sort of sigh: “Well, maybe you are all right--I don’t know--but you want to walk pretty straight while you are on my beat; for, morals or no morals, blamed if I take much stock in you. Move on, now.” Then he turned away, swinging his club by its string. But his eye was over his shoulder, my way; so I had to cross to that house, though I didn’t want to, any more. I did not expect it to be Smith’s house, now that I was so out of luck, but I thought I would ring and ask, and if it proved to be some one else’s house, then I would explain that I had come to examine the gas meter and thus get out the back way and be all right again. The door was opened by a middle-aged matron with a gentle and friendly face, and she had a sweet serenity about her that was a notable contrast to my nervous flurry. I asked after Smith and if he lived there, and to my surprise and gratitude she said that this was his home. “Can I see him? Can I see him right away--immediately?” No; he was gone downtown. My rising hopes fell to ruin. “Then can I see Mrs. Smith?” But alas and alas! she was gone downtown with him. In my distress I was suddenly smitten by one of those ghastly hysterical inspirations, you know, when you want to do an insane thing just to astonish and petrify somebody; so I said, with a rather overdone pretense of playful ease and assurance: “Ah, this is a very handsome overcoat on the hat rack--be so good as to lend it to me for a day or two!”