If the American people had anglicized themselves as thoroughly into liking three-volume stories, as they have in other things, it would be a pleasure to trace the next ten years of Peter’s life; for his growing reputation makes this period a far easier matter to chronicle than the more obscure beginnings already recorded. If his own life did not supply enough material we could multiply our characters, as did Dickens, or journey sideways, into little essays, as did Thackeray. His life and his biographer’s pen might fail to give interest to such devices, but the plea is now for “realism,” which most writers take to mean microscopical examination of minutia. If the physical and psychical emotions of a heroine as she drinks a glass of water can properly be elaborated so as to fill two printed pages, Peter’s life could be extended endlessly. There were big cases, political fights, globe trottings, and new friends, all of which have unlimited potentialities for numerous chapters. But Americans are peculiar people, and do not buy a pound of sugar any the quicker because its bulk has been raised by a skilful admixture of moisture and sand. So it seems best partly to take the advice of the Bellman, in the “Hunting of the Snark,” to skip sundry years. In resuming, it is to find Peter at his desk, reading a letter. He has a very curious look on his face, due to the letter, the contents of which are as follows: MARCH 22. DEAR OLD CHUM— Here is the wretched old sixpence, just as bad as ever—if not worse—come back after all these years. And as of yore, the sixpence is in a dreadful pickle, and appeals to the old chum, who always used to pull him out of his scrapes, to do it once more. Please come and see me as quickly as possible, for every moment is important. You see I feel sure that I do not appeal in vain. “Changeless as the pyramids” ought to be your motto. Helen and our dear little girl will be delighted to see you, as will Yours affectionately, WATTS. Peter opened a drawer and put the letter into it. Then he examined his diary calendar. After this he went to a door, and, opening it, said: “I am going uptown for the afternoon. If Mr. Murtha comes, Mr. Ogden will see him.”. Peter went down and took a cab, giving the driver a number in Grammercy Park. The footman hesitated on Peter’s inquiry. “Mr. D’Alloi is in, sir, but is having his afternoon nap, and we have orders he’s not to be disturbed.” “Take him my card. He will see me.” The footman showed Peter into the drawing-room, and disappeared. Peter heard low voices for a moment, then the curtains of the back room were quickly parted, and with hands extended to meet him, Helen appeared. “This is nice of you—and so unexpected!” Peter took the hand, but said nothing. They sat down, and Mrs. D’Alloi continued: “Watts is asleep, and I have given word that he is not to be disturbed. I want to see you for a moment myself. You have plenty of time?” “Yes.”