omen's hats. We never see the women except in cages in the
elevators--they spend their lives shooting up and down elevator shafts
in department stores, in apartment houses, in office buildings. And we
never see children in New York because the janitors won't let the women
who live in elevators have children! Don't talk to me! New York's a
Little Nemo nightmare. It's a joke. It's an insult!"

"How curious!" said Sam. "Now I see why they took you off the street and
made you a city editor. I don't agree with anything you say. Especially
are you wrong about the women. They ought to be caged in elevators, but
they're not. Instead, they flash past you in the street; they shine upon
you from boxes in the theatre; they frown at you from the tops of buses;
they smile at you from the cushions of a taxi, across restaurant tables
under red candle shades, when you offer them a seat in the subway. They
are the only thing in New York that gives me any trouble."

The city editor sighed. "How young you are!" he exclaimed. "However,
to-morrow you will be free from your only trouble. There will be
few women at the celebration, and they will be interested only in
convalescents--and you do not look like a convalescent."

Sam Ward sat at the outer edge of the crowd of overdressed females and
overfed men, and, with a sardonic smile, listened to Flagg telling his
assembled friends and sycophants how glad he was they were there to see
him give away a million dollars.

"Aren't you going to get his speech?", asked Redding, the staff
photographer.

"Get HIS speech!" said Sam. "They have Pinkertons all over the grounds
to see that you don't escape with less than three copies. I'm waiting to
hear the ritual they always have, and then I'm going to sprint for the
first train back to the centre of civilization."

"There's going to be a fine lunch," said Redding, "and reporters are
expected. I asked the policeman if we were, and he said we were."

Sam rose, shook his trousers into place, stuck his stick under his
armpit and smoothed his yellow gloves. He was very thoughtful of his
clothes and always treated them with courtesy.

"You can have my share," he said. "I cannot forget that I am fifty-five
minutes from Broadway. And even if I were starving I would rather have
a club sandwich in New York than a Thanksgiving turkey dinner in New
Rochelle."

He nodded and with eager, athletic strides started toward the iron
gates; but he did not reach th