an
undercurrent of reluctant but very profound admiration for her prowess.
She had done some thrilling things and seemed to make nothing of it.
Through this admiration there ran also a thread of hostility because he,
himself, would undoubtedly be afraid to attempt her lightest exploit.
Not even the trifling feat he had just witnessed, for he had never
learned to swim. But he clearly knew, despite this confusion, that he
was through with the girl. He must take more pains to avoid her. If met
by chance, she must be snubbed-up-staged, as she would put it.

Under his blankets now, after many appealing close-ups of the sandwich
which Jimmie had held out to him, he felt almost sorry that he had not
taken the girl's food. All his being, save that part consecrated to his
art, had cried out for it. Art, had triumphed, and now he was near to
regretting that it had not been beaten down. No good thinking about it,
though.

He reached again for his watch. It was seven-thirty and time to be
abroad. Once more he folded his blankets and placed them on the pile,
keeping an alert glance, the while, for another possible bit of the
delicious bread. He found nothing of this sort. The Crystal Palace Hotel
was bare of provender. Achieving a discreet retirement from the hostelry
he stood irresolute in the street. This morning there was no genial
sun to warm him. A high fog overcast the sky, and the air was chill. At
intervals he shivered violently. For no reason, except that he had there
last beheld actual food, he went back to the pool.

Evidently Mr. Rosenblatt had finally been appeased. The place was
deserted and lay bare and ugly in the dull light. The gallant ship of
the night before was seen to be a poor, flimsy make-shift. No wonder Mr.
Rosenblatt had wished billows to engulf it and mist to shroud it. He sat
on a beam lying at the ship end of the pool and stared moodily at the
pitiful make-believe.

He rounded his shoulders and pulled up the collar of his coat. He knew
he should be walking, but doubted his strength. The little walk to the
pool had made him strangely breathless. He wondered how long people were
in starving to death. He had read of fasters who went for weeks without
food, but he knew he was not of this class. He lacked talent for it.
Doubtless another day would finish him. He had no heart now for visions
of the Gashwiler table. He descended tragically to recalling that last
meal at the drug store-the bowl of soup with