The Vagabond came dashing into the Crimson building about six thirty last night, his hair disheveled, his the awry, and his clothes generally askew. On his face there was the look of a hunted man. The genial smile which usually characterizes the dapper old fellow was lost in an expression that can be described only as haunted. Terror, sheer stark terror gleamed in his eyes.

He closed the door, pulled the curtains across the windows, then flopped into an overstuffed chair with a great sigh.

"It's Alice and the Old Woman again," he said with an air of resignation. "I'll have to barricade myself in the Sanctum for the next twenty-four hours and lie as low as the heel who took those ash trays off the Dunster House tables. I tell you those women will be the end of me yet."

"Good heavens, man!" I exclaimed. "What in the world has happened to Alice and the Old Woman?"

He pointed mutely at the calendar. Then it all became clear. February twenty-ninth, Leap Year! Yes, indeed! Leap Year, and all the girls are doing it gracefully this year.

"I've been noticing a gleam in the Old Woman's eyes for some time," he confided. "She watches me as I shave, as I light my pipe, as I tie my tie; she hangs around me all the time and keeps glancing into her compact mirror, starting at her profile on the side that doesn't show the huge wen on her nose, patting the stringy mass of gray hair that is left on the top of her head. Poor thing! She seems worried every time I go out. As a matter of fact she's taken to hiding my cane and gloves of late. That was, however, all right. I could manage to steer clear of her on the twenty-ninth by taking Alice to the movies. But now Alice has started it. Last night she got out the pink frock. She's bought herself a pair of silk stockings and the daintiest little...well, she's got the gleam in her eye too, and the Dormouse has been ribbing her about her first 'opportunity."

I could hardly repress a laugh as I watched the old fellow, wiping beads of perspiration from his brow, fidgeting nervously with the golden head on his cane. Finally he walked up the stairs to the Sanctum. I could hear him moving about, piling the furniture before the door, and locking the windows. At length he called down to me through the copy shoot.

"Say,"he said. "You'll have to write the Vagabond for me tonight. My nerves are completely unstrung, yes, indeed, unstrung. The Old Woman, that's bad enough; but Alice too! Dear me, bless my soul, these women!"