Under the goad of this latter uncomfortable suspicion--in two weeks' time it had grown into a conviction--he actually made his way into a milliner's shop and inquired boldly for "feathers." "What sort of feathers, sir?" inquired the cool, bright-eyed young person who came forward to ask the needs of the tall, professional-looking man wearing glasses and exceedingly shabby brown gloves. "Why--er--just feathers; the sort ladies wear on hats." The young person smiled condescendingly. "Something in plumes, sir?" she asked, "or was it coque or marabout you wished to see?" "Something handsome. Long--er--and not too curly." The young woman produced a box and opened it. "How do you like this, sir? Only twenty dollars. Was it for an old lady or a young lady?" "Er--a young lady," said Mr. Hickey hastily. "That is to say, she----" "Your wife, perhaps?" and the young person smiled intelligently. "How would your lady like something like this?" And she held up a sweeping plume of a dazzling shade of green. "This is quite the latest swell thing from Paris, sir; can be worn on either a black or a white hat." Mr. Hickey reflected. "I--er--think the feathers were black," he observed meditatively; "but I like colours myself. Red--er--is a handsome colour in feathers." He eyed the young person defiantly. "I always liked a good red," he asserted firmly. "These new cerise shades are all the rage now in Paris, N'Yo'k an' Boston," agreed the young person, promptly pulling out another box. "Look at this grand plume in shaded tints, sir! Isn't it just perfectly stunning?" It was. Mr. Hickey surveyed it in rapt admiration, as the young person dangled it alluringly within range of his short-sighted vision. "I'd want two of those," he murmured. "Forty-eight, seventy, sir; reduced from fifty dollars; shall I send them?" "I--er--I'll take them with me," said the engineer, pulling out a roll of bills. "Women's hats must be singularly expensive," he mused for the first time in his professional career, as he strode away down the street, gingerly bearing his late purchase in a pasteboard box. It had not before occurred to Mr. Hickey that mere "feathers" were so costly. He trembled as he reflected upon the ravages committed by his unthinking umbrella. Anyway, these particular plumes were handsome enough to replace the ones he had undoubtedly ruined. He grew eager to behold Miss Tripp's face under the cerise plumes. But how was this to be brought about? Obviously this new perplexity demanded time for consideration. He carried the plumes home to his boarding-place, therefore, and stored them away on the top shelf of his closet, where they were discovered on the following day by his landlady, who was in the habit of keeping what she was pleased to term "a motherly eye" upon the belongings of her unattached boarders.