and a small conservatory of ferns. Then he started back
to the hotel.

It took the boy several trips to carry the bundles upstairs even when
they were piled to his eyes. When he finished, Donaldson held out his
hand.

"I 've had a mighty pleasant afternoon with you," he said. "And I hope
we 'll meet again. What's your number?"

"Thirty-four fifty-seven."

"Well, thirty-four fifty-seven, give us your hand in case we lose one
another for good."

The boy gingerly extended his grimy paw. When he removed it, he found
himself clutching a ten-dollar bill.

Donaldson remained in his room only long enough to arrange his
treasures and slip into his evening clothes. There was too much
outside to be enjoyed for him to appreciate yet the luxury of his
indoor surroundings. He had a passion for people, for crowds of
people. He had thought at first that he might attend the theatre, but
he realized now that the stage puppets were but faint reflections of
the stirring drama all about him--the playwright's plot less gripping
than that in which he himself was the central figure. To pass through
those doors would be more like stepping out of a theatre into the
leaden reality of life as he had seen it before yesterday.

For an hour or more he rubbed shoulders with the press that was on its
way to find relief from their own lives in the mimic lives of others
behind the footlights. To him in the Now it was comedy enough to watch
them as they filed in; it would have been an anticlimax to have gone
further. He craved good music, but a search of the papers did not
reveal any concert of note, so he sought one of the popular
restaurants, and, choosing a table in a corner, devoted himself to the
ordering of his dinner. He was hungry and took a childish delight in
selecting without first studying the price list.

When he had concluded, he took a more careful survey of the room. His
wandering gaze was checked by the profile of the woman whose eyes had
haunted him ever since he had first seen them in Barstow's laboratory.
It was Miss Arsdale, and opposite her sat a tall, thin-visaged young
man. As the latter turned and presented a full face view, Donaldson
was held by the peculiarity of his expression. His hot, beadlike eyes
burned from a white sensitive face that was almost emaciated; his thin
lips were set as though in grim resolution; while even his brown hair
refused to lend repose to the face, but, sticking out in cowlick