It was at the home of one of Harvard's prize professors, henceforth for purposes of discretion to be known simply as Bob. A young lady stood on the doorstep and clutched a sleeping foundling in her arm In response to her ring, a maid opened the door.

"Is Bob in?" the mysterious visitor wanted to know.

"Why Mr. Incognito," the maid responded with some dignity, "is at dinner with Mrs. Incognito."

"Oh, but it's very important," the young mother insisted, clasping her baby closely, "it's very important that I see Bob at once."

Without more ado Mr. Incognito was summoned rudely from his table. He came to the door and looked at the visitor. She looked at him; her eyes were large and inquiring; she dropped a hasty glance to the face of the sleeping infant in her arms, turned without speaking, and walked off into the darkness, her shoulders bearing the droop of disappointment.

Mr. Incognito's curiosity was naturally aroused. An investigation ensued and a very touching story came to light.

The quarters, it seems, on the New York night boat were crowded. The characters involved are our mysterious nocturnal scarcher and an alleged member of the Harvard faculty who can be designated only in so far as his first name is Bob, not for discretion this time, but because it's all we know. Displaying a courage born only of desperation, the mother of Bob Junior was making the rounds of every faculty member who bears the name of Robert, anxiously seeking to discover whether or not the brilliant intellect, would do right by little Nell.

Later, we are told, she found him.