But it's an awful grind on a man,--leaves him no time, along of the invitations he gets, and what with being run after in the streets and stared at in the hotels he don't get no privacy.

There's men, and women, too, over at that table, that just lie in wait for me here till I come, and don't lift their eyes off me.

I wonder they don't bring their opery-glasses with them." Concerned, sympathizing, and indignant, poor Phoebe turned her brown head and honest eyes in that direction.

But because they were honest, they could not help observing that the other table did not seem to be paying the slightest attention to the distinguished impersonator of Red-handed Dick.

Perhaps he had been overheard.
"Then that was the reason ye didn't come back to your location.