Pursuant to the resolutions unanimously adopted on the evening before, the Elephant Club met to proceed, under the direction of some experienced hunter, to scrutinize their ponderous game. Being duly equipped with all the arms and ammunition required for an expedition of so perilous a nature, they sallied forth. They dragged no heavy, ponderous artillery, they wore no clanking swords, they rallied under no silken banner, and marched to no inspiriting music; but they tramped along, their only rallying-flag being a yellow handkerchief round the hat of Mr. Myndert Van Dam, who had thus protected his "Cady" from any injury from a sudden shower; their only martial music was the shrill pipe of Mr. James George Boggs, who whistled "Pop goes the Weasel," and for arms each one had a hickory cane, and in the breast pocket of his overcoat, a single "pocket-pistol," loaded, but not dangerous. Mr. Remington Dropper had assumed the leadership, and was to conduct the party on their cruise. [Illustration] They had proceeded but a short distance when Mr. Boggs called out to the party to observe the motions of a queer-looking character, who was approaching at a distance of a half block. He was stepping on the edge of the sidewalk with his gaze fixed upon the gutter, and in apparent unconsciousness of the existence of anything but himself. He was lank, lean, and sallow. His clothes were quite dilapidated, his beard and hair long. A smile on his face seemed to indicate his entire satisfaction with himself. He was a marked character, and after a moment's sight at the individual, inquiries were made of Mr. Boggs as to who he was.