"Good!" put in Mr. Mickleworth, "I'll be It first. All go into the little smoking-room, and when I say 'Coo' come out and look for me." To Selma he added, in a whisper, "If you, while searching, should hum 'In the Gloaming' softly, may I scratch to let you know where I am?" Miss Livermore blushed. Now, of course, the game was all a joke, not to be taken seriously, and to make the situation funnier, Mr. Mickleworth, who, in his boarding-house commonly kept his evening clothes in a divan box, went direct to the monstrosity and climbed in, closing the lid upon himself. But, as it happened, Mr. Mickleworth's box was old-fashioned and unprovided with the latest patent catch, impregnable to those unacquainted with the combination. His position, therefore, in the lounge's dark interior must have been alarming for a moment, had he not discovered an ample breathing hole, concealed from outward observation by a fringe. Some bundles, hard and angular, occasioned but a trifling inconvenience at his feet. "Coo!" cried Mr. Mickleworth through the hole, when he had allowed sufficient time to mystify his fellow players. But for a moment it seemed to him that the others had not been playing fair, for there were voices speaking close to him. "Say, you're a slick one, Frenchy," somebody remarked in unfamiliar accents. "You'll have your picture in the Gallery yet." "Zat is all right," a foreign voice replied, "I know my business." Now others appeared to join in the conversation, and it became evident that the entire company had entered. "Let me out!" cried Mr. Mickleworth, but in the general Babel no one heard, and presently Mrs. Livermore's silvery notes were audible above the rest. "It was a very stupid mistake," she said. "You should have known such an ugly thing could not be for us. Please take it away at once, and another time be more careful about reading the address." "I'm sorry, mum," retorted somebody, "but I do hope you won't go for to report us to the firm? We're just pore workingmen." "You have probably been drinking," put in Mr. Livermore magnanimously, "and as it is Christmas we will overlook the error. Auguste, see that they do not scratch the wood-work." "Hurrah!" cried Selma joyfully. "It's going. The Monstrosity is being taken away. I hope whoever gets it will appreciate its merits more than we did." "Let me out! Let me out!" cried Mr. Mickleworth, but by this time all the guests were chattering louder than ever. Doctor Van Cott and the two Misses Mapes joined hands and danced as King David did before the Ark. Mr. Bertram Pease at the piano began to play the first selection that occurred to him, which chanced to be the Wedding March. The others clapped their hands and cheered. "Let me out!" cried Mr. Mickleworth for the last time from his prison, but an oily apron was now pressed tight against the hole, and he caught the whispered observation: "Say, Frenchy, you must have chucked the cat in by mistake."