It was with no conscious motive that Wilbur headed south. He found himself walking at a gait much faster than his usual one, but attributed that to the fine weather which he assured himself was exhilarating. Before he realized how fast he was going he had covered a dozen blocks. The neighborhood had changed. Behind him lay the business district with its skyscrapers. All about him were the sagging and unsightly houses of a once fine residential neighborhood which had deteriorated into a slum area. The only places which seemed at all cared for were the rooming houses. A poem of protest rose in Wilbur's breast, and was stilled as he became aware that he was on Erie street. The street had some meaning for him but it took several minutes before he realized why. Then he gasped. Only two doors from where he stood was 136 West Erie Street! For a long time Wilbur stood looking at the house. It was an old red brick structure three stories high. The upper two floors appeared untenanted. If they were not, the occupants must have liked fresh air for there were no windows. Wilbur directed his attention to the first floor. The windows there were too dusty to see through, but at least there were windows. A fat grey cat sunned itself on the window ledge and regarded Wilbur with unblinking eyes. He shuddered and had to summon all his courage to climb the stairs and look at the card nailed to the front door. A. J. Merlin, the card said, in an unusual script that Wilbur had trouble deciphering. He raised his hand to knock, then changed his mind. But as he was turning away he heard the door open. "Looking for me, bub?" a creaking voice said. Wilbur turned around. He found himself face to face with an old gentleman wrapped in what appeared to be a blue dressing gown with white stars all over it. The old man had a wisp of a beard and white eyebrows that slanted way up at the outside corners. He was wearing on his head a blue dunce cap which also had white stars on it. "Are you-uh-Mr. A. J. Merlin?" Wilbur stammered. "I mean the Mr. Merlin who gives people confidence?" "I might be," the old man said cagily. He stared down at Wilbur, and for the first time Wilbur noticed the old man had eyes as black and mysterious as a pool on a dark night. Those eyes regarded Wilbur, noting his size, weight and general construction. "Bah," the old man snorted. "You won't do. Not timid enough." "Yes, sir," Wilbur chattered. He started backward down the stairs and almost fell. "Wait a minute," the creaky voice ordered. Wilbur halted in mid-step. The black eyes regarded him. A hand tipped by long, curving fingernails stroked the wisp of a beard. "On the other hand," the old man said, "you might be more timid than you look. Come on in." * * * * *