“Thanks,” he said.  “Say, mister, you look like Santa Claus yourself, standin’ by the tree, with your fur cap and your coat.  I bet you don’t have to run to keep warm, hey?” There was high admiration in his look.  Suddenly his eyes sparkled with an inspiration.

“Say, mister,” he cried, “will you do something for me?  Come in to Bill’s—­he lives only a block from here—­and just let him see you.  He’s only a kid, and he’ll think he’s seen Santa Claus, sure.  We can tell him you’re so busy to-morrow you have to go to lots of places to-day.  You won’t have to give him anything.  We’re looking out for all that.  Bill got hurt in the summer, and he’s been in bed ever since.  So we are giving him a Christmas—­tree and all.  He gets a bunch of things—­an air gun, and a train that goes around when you wind her up.  They’re great!”

“You boys are doing this?”

“Well, it’s our club at the settlement, and of course Miss Gray thought of it, and she’s givin’ Bill the train.  Come along, mister.”

But Mr. Carter declined.

“All right,” said the boy.  “I guess, what with Pete and all, Bill will have Christmas enough.”

“Who is Pete?”

“Bill’s dog.  He’s had him three weeks now—­best little pup you ever saw!”

A dog which Bill had had three weeks—­and in a neighbourhood not a quarter of a mile from the avenue.  It was three weeks since Skiddles had disappeared.  That this dog was Skiddles was of course most improbable, and yet the philanthropist was ready to grasp at any clue which might lead to the lost terrier.

“How did Bill get this dog?” he demanded.

“I found him myself.  Some kids had tin-canned him, and he came into our entry.  He licked my hand, and then sat up on his hind legs.  Somebody’d taught him that, you know.  I thought right away, ’Here’s a dog for Bill!’ And I took him over there and fed him, and they kept him in Bill’s room two or three days, so he shouldn’t get scared again and run off; and now he wouldn’t leave Bill for anybody.  Of course, he ain’t much of a dog, Pete ain’t,” he added “he’s just a pup, but he’s mighty friendly!”

“Boy,” said Mr. Carter, “I guess I’ll just go round and”—­he was about to add,” have a look at that dog,” but fearful of raising suspicion, he ended—­“and see Bill.”

The tenements to which the boy led him were of brick, and reasonably clean.  Nearly every window showed some sign of Christmas.

The tree-bearer led the way into a dark hall, up one flight—­Mr. Carter assisting with the tree—­and down another dark hall, to a door, on which he knocked.  A woman opened it.

“Here’s the tree!” said the boy, in a loud whisper.  “Is Bill’s door shut?”

Mr. Carter stepped forward out of the darkness.  “I beg your pardon, madam,” he said.  “I met this young man in the street, and he asked me to come here and see a playmate of his who is, I understand, an invalid.  But if I am intruding—­”