"I turned into the Square, found the white house wid the geraniums, helps her out of me cab and steadied her up the steps, pulled the key out, and was just goin' to put it in the lock when she fell up agin the door and open it went. The gas was turned low in the hall, so that she wouldn't know me if she looked at me. "I found the parlor, but the lights were out; so widout lookin' for the sofa--I was afraid somebody'd come and catch me--I slid her into a rockin'-chair, laid the key on the hall-table, shut the door softlike, rang the bell as if there was a fire next door, jumped on me box, and driv off. "The next mornin' I went to see His Lordship. "'Did ye land her all right, Fin?' "'I did, sor,' I says. "'Had ye any trouble wid the key?' "'No, sor,' I says, 'the door was open.' "'That's queer,' he says; 'maybe her husband came in earlier and forgot to shut it. And ye put her on the sofa----' "'No, sor, in a big chair.' "'In the parlor on the right?' "'No, sor, in a little room on the left--down one step----' "He stopped and looked at me. "'Te're sure ye put her in the fust white house?' "'I am, sor.' "'Wid geraniums in the winder?' "'Yes, sor.' "'Red?' he says. "'No, white,' I says. "'On the north side of the Square? "'No,' I says, 'on the south.' "'My God! Fin,' he says, 'ye left her in the wrong house!'" It was I who shook the boat this time. "Oh, ye needn't laugh, sor; it was no laughin' matter. I got me five bob, but I lost His Lordship's custom, and I didn't dare go near Cadogan Square for a month." These disclosures opened up a new and wider horizon. Heretofore I had associated Fin with simple country life--as a cheery craftsman--a Jack-of-all-trades: one day attired in overalls, with paste-pot, shears, and ladder, brightening the walls of the humble cottagers, and the next in polo cap and ragged white sweater, the gift of some summer visitor (his invariable costume with me), adapting himself to the peaceful needs of the river. Here, on the contrary and to my great surprise, was a cosmopolitan; a man versed in the dark and devious ways of a great city; familiar with life in its widest sense; one who had touched on many sides and who knew the cafés, the rear entrances to the theatres, and the short cut to St. John's Wood with the best and worst of them. These discoveries came with a certain shock, but they did not impair my interest in my companion. They really endeared him to me all the more. After this I was no longer content with listening to his rambling dissertations on whatever happened to rise in his memory and throat. I began to direct the output. It was not a difficult task; any incident or object, however small, served my purpose. The four-inch dog acted as valve this morning.