“He? You will have to explain who is meant. Have you entered into a league with the father?” “Great Scott! no. It’s Aroun Scutari, the Turk.” “Ah, I know him! I saw you talking with him. Has he a daughter?” “Heaven knows. He has a harem full of wives over in Stamboul. That’s how it all came about, you see.” “But I don’t see. I’m as much in the dark as ever. Now, if you prefer not to take me into your confidence----” “Aleck, on the contrary I am delighted with the chance. Something about this business goes against my grain. I’ve always been a rolling stone, a harum-scarum sort of fellow, but I don’t know that I ever did a bad deed in my life. Yes, I believe your running across me to-night is a blessing. You can be a father confessor.” “Thanks.” “And having heard my little lay, tell me whether it would be awful wicked for me to win a wife by such fraud. Understand in the beginning, my intentions are honorable. If I refuse the job someone else will take it, and Samson Cereal’s daughter be won by a wretch who will abuse his privilege. Hence, though sworn to bachelorhood, I have deemed it my duty to put aside my scruples and----Jove! I’ve been forgetting myself--what time have you?” “Just a quarter to nine.” Wycherley shrugs his shoulders. “Then the time has come. I question my nerve to carry out the contract,” he mutters. “Contract?” echoes the Canadian athlete. Wycherley is looking at him steadily, as though possessed of a sudden notion. “I believe he’d do it,” is what he mutters, as he surveys Aleck’s muscular, well-knit figure, and then casts a glance of scorn at his own stout form. “Craig, have you been on the wheel to-night?” he asks suddenly. “No, and I confess it was my intention to go up before leaving. I’ve been waiting for a moon as near the full as we could get it overhead. If you’ll go as my guest, I accept.” “Nonsense. I told you I worked there--all the boys are known to me. Besides, it will be so arranged that you and I shall occupy a car alone. Then, as we mount upward, and look down upon these remarkable sights, I will a tale unfold, which, if it does not make your blood tingle will at least arouse your interest. Perhaps you may have difficulty in believing it, but stranger things are happening in this nineteenth century and at the World’s Fair than ever enter into your philosophy, Horatio! Here we are. Now watch me.” Wycherley seems to stand back as though awaiting a certain car. How it is done, the Canadian knows not, for he sees no signals exchanged, but presently he finds himself with his singular companion in one of the cars in which they are the only passengers. “First of all, notice this,” says Wycherley, as he points to the door that is ajar. “Against orders. I thought the system was perfect on the Ferris wheel, and every door locked.” “So it is, usually. To-night there is a substitute on duty--that is all.”