slet, ruff, and doublet, velvet, powder, curled love locks, brocade
and lace. The face of long-dead loveliness smiled out from its canvas,
or withheld itself haughtily from his salesman's gaze. Wonderful bare
white shoulders, and bosoms clasped with gems or flowers and lace,
defied him to recall any treasures of Broadway to compare with them.
Elderly dames, garbed in stiff splendour, held stiff, unsympathetic
inquiry in their eyes, as they looked back upon him. What exactly was a
thirty shilling bicycle suit doing there? In the Delkoff, plainly none
were interested. A pretty, masquerading shepherdess, with a lamb and a
crook, seemed to laugh at him from under her broad beribboned straw
hat. After looking at her for a minute or so, he gave a half laugh
himself--but it was an awkward one.

"She's a looker," he remarked. "They're a lot of them lookers--not
all--but a fair show----"

"A looker," translated Mount Dunstan in a low voice to Penzance, "means,
I believe, a young women with good looks--a beauty."

"Yes, she IS a looker, by gee," said G. Selden, "but--but--" the awkward
half laugh, taking on a depressed touch of sheepishness, "she makes me
feel 'way off--they all do."

That was it. Surrounded by them, he was fascinated but not cheered. They
were all so smilingly, or disdainfully, or indifferently unconscious of
the existence of the human thing of his class. His aspect, his life, and
his desires were as remote as those of prehistoric man. His Broadway,
his L railroad, his Delkoff--what were they where did they come into
the scheme of the Universe? They silently gazed and lightly smiled or
frowned THROUGH him as he stood. He was probably not in the least aware
that he rather loudly sighed.

"Yes," he said, "they make me feel 'way off. I'm not in it. But she is a
looker. Get onto that dimple in her cheek."

Mount Dunstan and Penzance spent the afternoon in doing their best for
him. He was well worth it. Mr. Penzance was filled with delight, and
saturated with the atmosphere of New York.

"I feel," he said, softly polishing his eyeglasses and almost
affectionately smiling, "I really feel as if I had been walking down
Broadway or Fifth Avenue. I believe that I might find my way to--well,
suppose we say Weber & Field's," and G. Selden shouted with glee.

Never before, in fact, had he felt his heart so warmed by spontaneous
affection as it was by this elderly, somewhat bald and thin-faced
clergyman of the Church