onal cab or foot
passenger, was bare. Broadway was thinly peopled with pedestrians. Only
now and then a stranger passing noticed the small group, handed out a
coin, and went away, unheeding.

The captain remained stolid and determined. He talked on, very slowly,
uttering the fewest words and with a certain assurance, as though he
could not fail.

"Come; I can't stay out here all night. These men are getting tired and
cold. Some one give me four cents."

There came a time when he said nothing at all. Money was handed him,
and for each twelve cents he singled out a man and put him in the other
line. Then he walked up and down as before, looking at the ground.

The theatres let out. Fire signs disappeared. A clock struck eleven.
Another half-hour and he was down to the last two men.

"Come, now," he exclaimed to several curious observers; "eighteen cents
will fix us all up for the night. Eighteen cents. I have six. Somebody
give me the money. Remember, I have to go over to Brooklyn yet to-night.
Before that I have to take these men down and put them to bed. Eighteen
cents."

No one responded. He walked to and fro, looking down for several
minutes, occasionally saying softly: "Eighteen cents." It seemed as if
this paltry sum would delay the desired culmination longer than all the
rest had. Hurstwood, buoyed up slightly by the long line of which he was
a part, refrained with an effort from groaning, he was so weak.

At last a lady in opera cape and rustling skirts came down Fifth Avenue,
accompanied by her escort. Hurstwood gazed wearily, reminded by her both
of Carrie in her new world and of the time when he had escorted his own
wife in like manner.

While he was gazing, she turned and, looking at the remarkable company,
sent her escort over. He came, holding a bill in his fingers, all
elegant and graceful.

"Here you are," he said.

"Thanks," said the captain, turning to the two remaining applicants.
"Now we have some for to-morrow night," he added.

Therewith he lined up the last two and proceeded to the head, counting
as he went.

"One hundred and thirty-seven," he announced. "Now, boys, line up. Right
dress there. We won't be much longer about this. Steady, now."

He placed himself at the head and called out "Forward." Hurstwood
moved with the line. Across Fifth Avenue, through Madison Square by the
winding paths, east on Twenty-third Street, and down Third Avenue wound
the long, serpentine company. Mid