Misgivings beset and cooled Mr. Thomas Clyde. He had now reached the rear platform, still holding in his powerful and disabling grasp the unknown man, when he heard a voice from an automobile which had been halted by the abrupt stop of the car. “Can I be of any help?” “Dr. Magruder!” exclaimed Mr. Clyde, “come in here, will you, and look at a sick man?” As the doctor stepped aboard, the captive with a violent wrench freed himself from Mr. Clyde’s relaxing hold and dropped from the platform into the darkness. Dr. Magruder forced his way through the crowd, took one look at the patient, and, right and left, struck him powerfully across the cheeks time and again, until the leaden-lidded eyes opened again. There was a quick recourse to the physician’s little satchel; then— “All right,” said the doctor cheerfully. “He’ll do now. But, my friend, with that heart of yours, you want to sign the pledge or make your will. It was touch and go with you that time.” Waiting to hear no more, Mr. Thomas Clyde jumped from the rear step and set off at a rapid pace, looking about him as he ran. He had not gone a block when he saw, by the radiance of an electric light, a tall figure leaning against a tree in an attitude of nerveless dejection. The figure straightened up. “Don’t try to man-handle me again,” advised the man, “or you may meet with a disappointment.” “I’ve come to apologize.” “Very well,” returned the other coolly; “I appreciate it. Many a fool wouldn’t go even so far.” Mr. Clyde smiled. “I own to the soft impeachment. From what Dr. Magruder said I judge you saved that fellow from the hospital.” “I judge I did—no thanks to you! You’ve a grip like a vise.” “Yes; I keep in good training,” said the other pleasantly. “A man of my age has to, if he is to hold up his work.” He looked concernedly at the stranger who had involuntarily lapsed against the tree again. “See here,” he added, “I don’t believe you’re well.” “No; I don’t believe I am,” answered the tall man in uncompromising tones; “but I do believe that it is peculiarly my own affair whether I am or not.” “Nonsense! Man, your nerves are on the jump. You used yourself up on that chap in the street car. Come across to my club and take something to brace you up.” People usually found it hard to resist Mr. Clyde’s quiet persuasiveness. The stranger, after a moment of consideration, smiled. “Begin with a fight and end with a drink?” he asked. “That’s a reversal of the usual process. If your cuisine runs to a cup of hot milk as late as this, I’d be glad to have it.” As they entered the club, Mr. Clyde turned to his guest. “What name shall I register?” The stranger hesitated. “Strong,” he said finally. “Dr. Strong?” “Well—yes—Dr. Strong if you will.” “Of what place?” “Any place—Calcutta, Paris, Mexico City, Philadelphia, Rio. I’ve tried ‘em all. I’m a man without a country, as I am without a profession.” He spoke with the unguarded bitterness of shaken nerves.