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seems bound the same way. We won't get a seat unless we make haste."

Dulcet was gazing reflectively at the sandwich boards. His blue eyes had a quizzical twinkle.

"For God, for country, and for Yule," he said. "Queer that this should happen on Ann Street. I seem to remember———"

"Queer that it should happen anywhere," I interrupted him. "It's a clever advertising stunt, anyway—100 meals for $10. It seems too good to be true."

"The only thing I'm afraid of," he said, "is that it is literally true."

"Walk in, gents, give us a try," cried the sandwich man. "Try anything once, gents."

"Come on, Dove," I said, seeing that others were crowding ahead of us down the alley. "None of your paradoxes!"

The narrow passage turned into a courtyard overlooked by old grimy warehouses with iron-shuttered windows. In one corner was a fine substantial brick building with a rounded front, and a long flight of wooden stairs that seemed to lead up to a marine junk shop, for old sea-boots and ships' lanterns and fenders hung along the wall. In a basement was an iron foundry where we could see the bright glow of a forge. Half-