h gathering. There were well-dressed men, and men
who were obviously of the sea. There were the flashily dressed crooks,
whose work was the haunt of sidewalk, and trains, and the surface cars.
There were out and out toughs, careless of all appearance, and with
their evil hall-marked on harsh faces and in their watchful eyes. Then
there were others whom no one but the police of the city could have
placed. There were Chinamen and Lascars. There were square-headed
Germans, and the Dagos from Italy and other Latin countries. There were
niggers, too, which was a tribute to the generosity of Mallard's
hospitality.

Those at the tables were mostly drinking and gambling. Poker seemed to
be the favoured pastime, but "shooting craps" was not without its
devotees. There were one or two groups in close confabulation over their
drinks. While round the stove was a scattering of loungers.

A dark good-looking man, with an ample brown beard, was amongst the
latter. He was reclining with little more than his back resting on the
seat of an armed Windsor chair. His feet, well shod, were thrust up on
the stove in approved fashion. He was smoking a cheap cigar which
retained its highly coloured band, and contemplating the brazen pages of
an early edition of a leading evening paper.

A man beside him, an Englishman, to judge by the make of his clothes and
his manner of speech, had a news sheet lying in his lap. But he was not
reading. His fair face and blue eyes were turned with unfailing interest
on the dull sides of the glowing stove. Occasionally he spoke to his
bearded neighbour, who also seemed to be something of a companion.

"I can't find anything that's likely to be of any use to me," he said.

His speech was curiously refined and seemed utterly out of place in the
office of Mallard's. "I quit London because--It seems to me cities are
all the same. They're all full to overflowing, and the only jobs going
are the jobs no one wants. Why in hell do we congregate in cities?"

The man beside him replied without looking up from his paper.

"Because we've a ten cent sense with a fi' dollar scare." He laughed
harshly. "How long have you been out? Six months? Six months, an' you've
learned to guess hard when you see Saney bumming around, or a uniform in
the crowd. You've learned to wish you 'hadn't,' so you dream things all
night. You're yearning to get back to things as they were before you
guessed you'd fancy them diff'rent, and you f