Then, when all seemed lost, the camel’s back wandered curiously into the store. He was a dilapidated individual with a cold in his head and a general trend about him of downwardness. His cap was pulled down low on his head, and his chin was pulled down low on his chest, his coat hung down to his shoes, he looked run-down, down at the heels, and--Salvation Army to the contrary--down and out. He said that he was the taxicab-driver that the gentleman had hired at the Clarendon Hotel. He had been instructed to wait outside, but he had waited some time, and a suspicion had grown upon him that the gentleman had gone out the back way with purpose to defraud him--gentlemen sometimes did--so he had come in. He sank down onto the three-legged stool. “Wanta go to a party?” demanded Perry sternly. “I gotta work,” answered the taxi-driver lugubriously. “I gotta keep my job.” “It’s a very good party.” “’S a very good job.” “Come on!” urged Perry. “Be a good fella. See--it’s pretty!” He held the camel up and the taxi-driver looked at it cynically. “Huh!” Perry searched feverishly among the folds of the cloth. “See!” he cried enthusiastically, holding up a selection of folds. “This is your part. You don’t even have to talk. All you have to do is to walk--and sit down occasionally. You do all the sitting down. Think of it. I’m on my feet all the time and _you_ can sit down some of the time. The only time _I_ can sit down is when we’re lying down, and you can sit down when--oh, any time. See?” “What’s ’at thing?” demanded the individual dubiously. “A shroud?” “Not at all,” said Perry indignantly. “It’s a camel.” “Huh?” Then Perry mentioned a sum of money, and the conversation left the land of grunts and assumed a practical tinge. Perry and the taxi-driver tried on the camel in front of the mirror. “You can’t see it,” explained Perry, peering anxiously out through the eyeholes, “but honestly, ole man, you look sim’ly great! Honestly!” A grunt from the hump acknowledged this somewhat dubious compliment. “Honestly, you look great!” repeated Perry enthusiastically. “Move round a little.” The hind legs moved forward, giving the effect of a huge cat-camel hunching his back preparatory to a spring. “No; move sideways.” The camel’s hips went neatly out of joint; a hula dancer would have writhed in envy. “Good, isn’t it?” demanded Perry, turning to Mrs. Nolak for approval. “It looks lovely,” agreed Mrs. Nolak. “We’ll take it,” said Perry. The bundle was stowed under Perry’s arm and they left the shop. “Go to the party!” he commanded as he took his seat in the back. “What party?” “Fanzy-dress party.” “Where’bouts is it?” This presented a new problem. Perry tried to remember, but the names of all those who had given parties during the holidays danced confusedly before his eyes. He could ask Mrs. Nolak, but on looking out the window he saw that the shop was dark. Mrs. Nolak had already faded out, a little black smudge far down the snowy street.