The druggist gave his permission for Jack to receive an answer at his store, so he gave that as his address. He sent the letter in the care of the Future Age magazine.
"There's one line started," he said to himself, as he let it fall in the box.
14
Another thing that Jack had in mind was the necessity of disguising himself. Being an entire stranger to the art of make-up, he required instruction. Ralph, their private bell-boy at the Madagascar, had seemed the likeliest person to apply to in such a case. Leaving the hotel that morning, Jack had said to him carelessly:
"I'm invited to a masquerade. Where's the best place to go for an outfit? I want something better than the ordinary costumer."
"Why don't you try Harmon Evers?" was the reply. "All the theatrical people go to him. He's the greatest make-up artist in New York."
"Where's his place?"
"Twenty-ninth street, just east of the Avenue."
Jack now bent his steps in that direction. He discovered a neat little shop on the street level with a sign reading: