g stranger.

"No, they do not sing serenades under windows any more--nor has the
stone age returned with its love-making manners," remarked Farr, his
lips trembling and his emotion still in his eyes. "There are some
manners which ware worse, however, than knocking maidens down with
clubs."

The other man snapped himself around on his heels.

"Damn you, you're that fresh hobo! I don't forget a man who shoots off
low-down sneers at me. Here! You come back here! I want to ask a few
questions, my man."

Farr continued on his way, opening his book.

"If I ever see you again--" blustered the lover.

"I sincerely hope that will never happen," remarked the stranger,
without turning his head. "Instinct of the purely animal sort tells me
that if our paths cross in this life it will be very bad for one or the
other."

When Farr was in the highway he fumbled in his pocket and found the
withered rose. He tossed it away among the roadside bushes.

But after he had gone on his way for some distance he retraced his steps
and hunted in the bushes for a long time on his hands and knees until he
found the poor little keepsake.

He put it carefully into the deepest pocket he could find in his newly
acquired habiliments and trudged on down the world.

VI

A MAN ON FOOT AND A MAN IN HIS CHARIOT

A blatant orator, haranguing passionately, attracted two new auditors.

A tall young man sauntered to the edge of the little group in the square
and listened with a smile which indicated cynical half-interest.

An automobile halted on the opposite side of the group. A big man sat
alone in the tonneau.

He began to scowl as he listened.

The young man continued to smile.

The big man was plainly a personality. He was cool and crisp in summer
flannels--as immaculate as the accoutrements of his car.

In face and physique the young man was plainly not of that herd near
which he stood.

His glance crossed that of the man in the car; he met the scowl with his
smile.

Like a kiln open to the hot glare from a brassy sky or an oven where the
July caloric blazed like a blast from the open mouth of a retort--such
that day seemed Moosac Square in the heart of the cotton-mill city. High
buildings closed in its treeless, ill-paved, dirty area. The air, made
blistering by the torch of the sun, beat back and forth between the
buildings in shimmering waves.

In the center of the square the blatant orator balanced himself on a
stone