Nickel Plate, the polished Villain, sat in his office in the North South corner of the first straight turning to the left of the Castle in Plotville.

"Gadzooks," exclaimed he with a heavy frown, "likewise Pish Tush! Methinks I grow rusty—it is indeed a sad world when a real villain is reduced to chewing his moustache and biting his lips instead of feasting on the fat of the land."

So saying he rose from his chair, smote himself heavily on the chest, carefully twirled his long black moustache and paced dejectedly up and down and across the room.

"I wonder," he began, when ting-a-ling-a-ling the telephone rang.

"Hello," said he. "Yes, this is Nickel Plate— Oh! good morning, Mr. Bogie Man—Sh-h-h—Don't speak so loudly. Some one may see you.—No—Bumbus has not returned with Honey Girl—I'm sorry, sir, but I expect him every minute. I'll let you know as soon as I can. Oh! yes, he is to substitute Glucose for Honey Girl and return here for further villainous orders. Oh! a—excuse me, but can you help me with a little loan of—hello—hello—pshaw he's rung off. Central—ting-a-ling-a-ling—Central, won't you give me Bogie Man again, please—what! he's left orders not to connect us again—well!—good-bye."

"Now then what am I to do? I have just one nickel to my name and I can't spend that. If Bumbus has failed I don't know what we shall do. A fine state of affairs for a man with an ossified conscience and a good digestion—ha-a-a, what is that?"

"Buzz-z-z," came a sound through the open window.

"Is that Bumbus?" called Nickel Plate in a loud whisper.

"I be," answered Bumbus, climbing over the sill and darting to a chair.

"Why didn't you come in by the door?—you know how paneful a window is to me."

"When is a cow?" said Bumbus, perching himself on the back of his chair and fanning himself with his foot.

"Sometimes, I think—" began Nickel Plate, angrily.

"Wrong answer; besides it's not strictly true," said Bumbus, turning his large eyes here and there as he viewed his master.

"A truce to foolishness," said Nickel Plate, "what news—but wait—" and taking two wads of cotton out of his pocket he stuffed them in two cracks in the wall—"walls have ears—we will stop them up—proceed."

"Honey Girl has disappeared," whispered Bumbus.

"Gone! and her golden comb?"

"She has taken it with her."

"Gone," growled Nickel Plate—"but wait, I am not angry enough for a real villain"; lighting a match he quickly swallowed it. "Ha, ha! now I am indeed a fire eater. Gadzooks, varlet! and how did she escape us?"

Bumbus hung his head. "Alas, sir, with much care did I carry Glucose to the Palace of the Queen Bee to substitute her for Honey Girl—dressed to look exactly like her, even to a gold-plated comb. I had bribed Drone, the sentry, to admit us in the dead of night. Creeping softly through the corridors of the Castle, with Glucose in my arms, I came to the door of Honey Girl. I opened the door and crept quietly into the room; all was still. I reached the dainty couch and found—"

"Yes," said Nickel Plate excitedly.

"I found it empty; Honey Girl had fled."

"Sweet Honey Girl! alas, have we lost you? also which is more important, the reward for the abduction—but revenge, revenge!" hissed Nickel Plate.

"What did you do with Glucose?"

"Glucose has gone back to her work in the factory," said Bumbus, "but will come back to us whenever we wish."

"Enough," said Nickel Plate, "Bogie Man must know of this at once. I will telephone him—but no, he has stopped the connection. Will you take the message?"

"Sir, you forget."

"Too true, I need you here: a messenger." So saying Nickel Plate rang the messenger call and sat down to write the note of explanation to Bogie Man.

"Rat-a-tat-tat" came a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Nickel Plate in a deep bass voice, the one he kept for strangers.

The door popped open and in ran—yes, he really ran—a messenger boy. And such a messenger boy, such bright, quick eyes, such a clean face and hands, not even a high water line on his neck and wrists, such twinkling feet and such a well brushed uniform! Why you would hardly believe he was a messenger boy if you saw him, he was such an active little fellow.

"Did you ring, sir?" said Billy Bounce.

"Sh-h-h, not so loud," whispered Nickel Plate mysteriously—the whisper he kept for strangers. "Yes, I rang."

"Very well, sir, I am here."

"Ah-h," hummed Bumbus. "Are you here, are you there, do you really truly know it? Have a care, have a care."

"Excuse me, sir," said Billy bewildered, "I don't think I understand you."

"Neither do I," said Bumbus. "Nobody does. I'm a mystery."

"Mr. who?" said Billy.

"Mr. Bumbus of course."

"Oh! I thought you said Mr. E."

"Don't be silly, boy," interrupted Nickel Plate.

"Bumbus, be quiet."

"I be," said Bumbus.

"Can you read?" whispered Nickel Plate.

"Yes, sir."

"That's good. Then perhaps you know where Bogie Man lives."

"No, sir, but if you'll tell me I can find his house," said Billy, hoping it wasn't the real Bogie Man he meant.

"That would be telling," said Nickel Plate.

"But, sir, I don't know where to find him."

"Did you ever see such a lazy boy?" hummed Bumbus. "Lazy bones, lazy bones, climb up a tree and shake down some doughnuts and peanuts to me."

"But really," said Nickel Plate frowning, "really you know I can't tell you where Bogie Man lives; it's against the rules."

"Then, sir," said Billy, his head in a whirl, "I don't see how I can deliver your message."

"That's your lookout. You're a messenger boy, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your duty is to carry messages wherever they are sent?"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"There, I can't argue with you any more. You will have to take the message—good day," said Nickel Plate handing Billy the note.

"But, sir—"

Bumbus jumped off his chair and slowly revolved around Billy, humming—

As he sang this, Bumbus circled closer and closer to Billy until finally he touched him, digging him in the ribs and giving him gentle pushes toward the door. Suddenly Billy found himself outside of the room with the door slammed in his face.

"Well," said Billy staring at the note in his hand, "I'm glad I'm out of that room anyway." Then looking up at the door he read painted in bold, black letters on the glass "Nickel Plate, Polished Villain. Short and long orders in all kinds of villainy promptly executed. Abductions a specialty." And lower down in smaller letters, "I. B. Bumbus, Assistant Villain, office hours between 3 o'clock."

"What am I to do with this note? It is addressed to Bogie Man, In-The-Dark, Never Was. If I don't deliver the message I'll be discharged, and if I do deliver it—but how can I—oh pshaw! I know, I'm asleep—ouch!" for he had given himself a sharp nip in the calf of his leg to wake himself.

But there was the note still in his hand, and there in front of him stood the building he had just left.

"I'm awake, that's certain, and—I beg your pardon, sir—" for he had bumped into a little old gentleman who was hurrying in the opposite direction.

"It's Mr. Gas, the balloon maker," cried Billy, joyfully; "perhaps you can help me; it's a good thing I ran into you."

"Humph!" said Mr. Gas, with his hands on his stomach, "it's not a very good thing for me that you ran into me, but I'm glad to see you."

"I am sorry, Mr. Gas, but I'm really in very serious trouble," said Billy, with a sigh.

Mr. Gas smiled. "I might have known you didn't know the way to Bogie Man's house."

"Why," said Billy, in surprise, "how did you know—"

"Gift horses can't be choosers, which means, don't ask any questions," said Mr. Gas, pinching Billy's ear; "but come along to my house, and I'll help you."

"Now," said Mr. Gas, when they had entered the shop where he made all the toy balloons for all the little boys and girls in all the world, "be careful not to sit on the ceiling, because if you do you'll burst some of my balloons."

Billy laughed. "Sit on the ceiling; why, how could I?"

"Wait and see," said Mr. Gas; "nothing is impossible to your Fairy Godfather."

"Are you my Fairy Godfather?" asked Billy, opening his eyes very, very wide.

"On Sundays and week days I am; the rest of the time I'm not."

"But what other days are there?" said Billy.

"Strong days of course. I thought you knew Geography," said Mr. Gas huffily.

"Yes, sir, I suppose so," said Billy afraid to ask any more questions.

"Now then, put on this suit," said the balloon maker, producing what looked like a big rubber bag.

"Yes, sir, but—"

"Of course it's wrong side out. How can I get the right side inside unless the wrong side is outside of the inside of the outside of the inside of your outside clothes. Anybody who can count his chickens before they are hatched ought to know that."

Billy gasped and proceeded to pull the suit on over his messenger boy's uniform.

"Stand on your head."

Billy knew how to do this. He had practiced it often enough against fences when he should have been delivering messages.

Taking one of Billy's trouser legs in each hand, Mr. Gas gave a quick jerk and Billy found himself standing on his feet with the rubber suit inside of his uniform.

"There," said Mr. Gas, "that's done—the next thing is to blow you up."

"Oh! Mr. Gas, please don't do that," said Billy, thinking of gunpowder and things.

"With a hot air pump—stand quiet," chug-chug-ff-chug-ff-squee-e went the pump and there stood Billy like a great round butter ball. His uniform fitted as close and snug on the rubber suit as the skin on an onion. For that was a peculiar property of the rubber suit; any clothes, loose, tight or otherwise were bound to fit over it.

"Thank you sir," said Billy looking down and trying to see his foot, "but—"

"Here's the hot air pump; put it in your pocket.—Now—be careful, don't jump or you'll bump your head. You're ready now to hunt Bogie Man."

"How am I to get there?"

"Jump there of course," replied Mr. Gas. "When you get outside the door all you have to do is to jump into the air; that will carry you out of town. Then keep on jumping till you get there. That's simple, isn't it?"

"But can't you tell me in which direction to jump?" asked Billy.

"Jump up, of course; if you jump down you'll dent the sidewalk."

"But shall I jump North or East or South or West, sir?"

"Exactly; just follow those directions and you will be sure to arrive; but wait, before you start I'll give you Barker, my little dog."

"What kind of a dog is he?" asked Billy.

"A full-blooded, yellow cur. He won the Booby prize at the last dog show."

"Thank you, sir; but won't you keep him for me until I get back?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Billy, it strains the suit; Barker will help you when you want shade or shelter by night or day."

"Isn't he rather a small dog for me to get under?" asked Billy, looking at the tiny animal Mr. Gas held out to him.

Mr. Gas stamped his foot. "More questions—listen: when night or rain comes on, drop to the ground, dig a little hole, hold Barker's nose over it and pinch his tail to make him bark. Shovel in the dirt, and of course you will have planted his bark. Well, you know what is planted must grow, so up will come the bark and the boughs, and you can shelter yourself all night beneath the singing tree."

Billy took the dog and started out of the door. "Thank you; is that all, sir?"

"Of course not," said Mr. Gas.

"Yes, sir."

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye?" asked Billy, in surprise, "I thought you said—"

"Yes, that's it; we had to say good-bye before it could be all."

"Oh! good-bye," said Billy, and going outside took a great big jump up into the air.