As this marvellous creature stood up and prepared to alight from the vehicle, he chanced to turn his eye-glass in my direction. He scanned me carelessly, glanced away, and scanned me again with a less detached stare. And I, on my part, felt the awakening of a memory.

“That’s my cousin Sullivan,” I said to myself. “I wonder if he wants to be friends.”

Our eyes coquetted. I put one foot into the roadway, withdrew it, restored it to the roadway, and then crossed the street.

It was indeed the celebrated Sullivan Smith, composer of those so successful musical comedies, “The Japanese Cat,” “The Arabian Girl,” and “My Queen.” And he condescended to recognize me! His gestures indicated, in fact, a