CHAPTER V.
CORNERING THE BOBCAT The next evening Harding was taking out a cigar in the vestibule when a man brushed past him wearing big mittens and a loose black cloak such as old-fashioned French-Canadians sometimes use.
"Why, Blake!" he cried.

"What have you got on?
Have you been serenading somebody ?" "I can't stop," Blake answered with a grin.

"Open that door for me--quick!" A porter held back the door, but as Blake slipped through, Harding seized his cloak.
"Hold on! I want a talk with you!" Blake made an effort to break loose, and as he did so a bobcat dropped from beneath his arm and fell, spitting and snarling, to the floor.
Its fur was torn and matted, tufts were hanging loose, and the creature had a singularly disreputable and ferocious appearance.

Blake made an attempt to recapture it, but, evading him easily, it ran along the floor with a curious hopping gait and disappeared among the pillars.
Then he turned to his friend with a rueful laugh.
"You see what you've done! It's gone into the rotunda, where everybody is." Harding looked at him critically.
"You seem sober.

What ever possessed you to get yourself up like an Italian opera villain and go round the town with a wild beast under your arm ?" "I'll tell you later," Blake laughed.