“So he did, James; a savage monster indeed.  This young man just beat him off and saved Millie’s life.”

“Hardly that,” I put in modestly.  I did not want more praise than I was justly entitled to receive.

“Indeed, but he did.  See the spade covered with blood?  Had he not hit the animal over the head with that, something dreadful would have happened.”

“I didn’t hit him exactly,” I laughed.  “I held it up and he ran against it,” and once more I told my story.

“You have done us a great service, young man,” said the gentleman when I had concluded.  “I was once in the butcher business myself,—­ in fact, I am in it yet, but only in the export trade,—­ and I know full well how dangerous bulls can get.  Had it not been for you my little girl might have been torn to pieces.  One of her dolls is dressed in red, and this would have attracted the bull’s immediate attention.  I thank you deeply.”  He grasped my hand warmly.  “May I ask your name?”

“Roger Strong, sir.”

“My name is Harrison—­ James Harrison.  You live here in Chicago, I suppose?”

“No, sir, I come from Darbyville, New Jersey.”

“Darbyville?” He thought a moment.  “I never heard of such a town.”

“It is only a small place several miles from New York.  I came to Chicago on business.  I arrived about half an hour ago.”

“Really?  Your introduction into our city has been rather an exciting one.”

“I’ve had other adventures fully as exciting in the past few days,” I returned.

“Yes?” and Mr. Harrison eyed me curiously.

“Yes.  Our train was delayed, I almost had my handbag stolen, and I’ve been arrested as a thief.”

“And all in a half an hour?” The gentleman and his wife both looked incredulous.

“No, sir; since I’ve left home.”

“I should like to hear your story—­ that is, if you care to tell it.”

“I will tell you the whole thing if you care to listen,” I returned, reflecting that my newly made friend might give me some material assistance in my quest.

“Then come into the house.”

“I’d better shut the alley gate first,” said I, and running down I did so, and picked up my handbag as well.

Mr. Harrison led the way inside.  I could not help but note the rich furnishings of the place—­ the soft carpets, artistically papered walls, the costly pictures and bric-a-brac, all telling of wealth.

Mrs. Harrison and the little girl had disappeared up the stairs.  Mr. Harrison ushered me into his library and motioned me to a seat.

I hardly knew how to begin my story.  To show how John Stumpy had had me arrested, it would be necessary to go back to affairs at Darbyville, and this I hesitated about doing.

“If you have time I would like to tell you about my affairs before I started to come to Chicago,” I said.  “I would like your advice.”

The gentleman looked at the clock resting upon the mantel shelf.