Wendell felt so secure in his invisibility, that he made no attempt to restrain his laughter. He roared with mirth, and rocked, and slapped his knee, till he noticed that the passengers were all looking to see which one of them was responsible for this unseemly noise. This struck Wendell as funnier than ever. He laughed uncontrollably, but he didn’t forget again to keep an eye on the door; and whenever anyone got on after that, Wendell rose to his feet with a promptitude that would have earned him a medal as the most courteous boy in Greater Boston, if the Courtesy Contest Editor of the _Post_ could have seen him. As the car proceeded northward, the seats were filled more and more, till there was no room for Wendell to sit. Towards the end of his ride, it really was too crowded for comfort, for other standing passengers stood on his feet, and wedged him in to small spaces, and lurched against him with the motion of the car, and then apologized to somebody else, till he was very glad when they arrived at Park Street, and he could run for home. He went in with the cloak under his arm and hid it in his bureau drawer. CHAPTER XII BLIND MAN’S BUFF WITH THE GIANT The Pixie dropped in as usual after supper, and tried to act as if nothing had happened; “but he can’t get away with _that_,” said Wendell to himself. “Hello, old sport,” said the Pixie in an offhand way. “How are the fractions?” “Oh, they’re all there,” returned Wendell, “but, I say, what do you mean by sneaking off and leaving me this afternoon? I’d like to know that.” “I _didn’t_ sneak,” said the Pixie indignantly. “I mentioned that I was going. I _never_ sneak.” “I’d like to know what you call it then. You didn’t wait for me, did you?” “Oh!” said the Pixie. “Why, I’m awfully sorry, old chap. I thought you weren’t ready to come home when I left.” “Why didn’t you wait till I was, then?” “Why, that would have seemed so like hurrying you,” explained the Pixie, gently. “No one can do a really artistic job with that being-waited-for feeling. By the way, did you make any headway? Get any line on the cloak?” “Yes, I got it all right,” said Wendell. “But you might have waited to see.” “I hope I didn’t seem rude,” said the Pixie, penitently. “Really, to be frank, I never did take much interest in the second-hand clothing trade; and perhaps I made it too evident that I was a bit bored. I’ll wait for you next time.” “You can take it from me there won’t be any next time,” returned Wendell in a rude voice that was a sad contrast to the Pixie’s gentlemanly manner. “I’m going alone to-morrow. I guess the Cloak of Darkness will be worth several dozens of your old transformations. So there!” “I am sure you will regret this hasty expression of feeling when you take time to think it over, my dear young friend,” said the Pixie, gravely yet kindly. “I think I would better leave you until you come to your better self.” He instantly vanished from sight.