to four o'clock. The matinee would be over at a quarter to five.
Presently he looked again. It was five minutes past four. Really it
wasn't so bad waiting after all; not half so bad as he had thought it
would be.

Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up with a start. The
manager of the place stood at his elbow.

"This isn't a railway station, young feller," he said, harshly.
"You'll have to move on. These tables are for customers."

"But I've bought----"

"Now, don't argue about it. You heard what I said. Move along."

The man's tone was peremptory. Poor Harvey looked around as if in
search of a single benevolent face, and then, without a word of
protest, arose and moved quickly toward the door. His eyes were fixed
in a glassy stare on the dancing, elusive doorway. He wondered if he
could reach it before he sank through the floor. Somehow he had the
horrible feeling that just as he opened it to go out some one would
kick him from behind. He could almost feel the impact of the boot and
involuntarily accelerated his speed as he opened the door to pass into
the biting air of the now darkening street.

"I hate this damned town," said he to himself over and over again as
he flung himself against the gale that almost blew him off his feet.
When he stopped to take his bearings, he was far above Longacre Square
and still going in the wrong direction. He was befuddled. A policeman
told him in hoarse, muffled tones to go back ten blocks or so if he
wanted to find the theatre where Nellie Duluth was playing.

A clock in an apothecary's shop urged him to hurry. When he came to
the theatre, the newsboys were waiting for the audience to appear. He
was surrounded by a mob of boys and men shouting the extras.

"Is the show out?" he asked one of them.

"No, sir!" shouted the boy, eagerly. "Shall I call up your automobile,
mister!"

"No, thank you," said Harvey through his chattering teeth. For a
moment he felt distinctly proud and important. So shrewd a judge of
humanity as a New York "newsy" had taken him to be a man of parts. For
awhile he had been distressed by the fear, almost the conviction, that
he was regarded by all New York as a "jay."

Belying his suddenly acquired air of importance, he hunched himself up
against the side of the building, partly sheltered from the wind, and
waited for the crowd to pour forth. With the appearance of the first
of those home-goers he would repair to the stage door, and, onc