their
feet; but it did say, "Men wanted." Well, he was a man, at any rate. He
accosted a fellow who passed him whistling.

"Can you tell me where a chap can get a shave in this neighbourhood? Any
barbers hereabouts?"

The other grinned. "Every feller is his own razor in Nut Street,
partner! You can find barber shops uptown."

"I want to get a wash-up," Fairfax said, smiling on him his light smile.
"I want to get hold of a towel and some soap."

The workman pointed across the street. "There's a hotel. They'll fix you
up."

Fairfax followed the man's indication, and he saw the second sign that
hung in Nut Street. It gave the modest information, "Rooms and board
three dollars a week. Room one dollar a week. All at Kenny's first-class
hotel. Gents only." Of the proprietor who stood in the doorway, and
whose morning toilet had gone as far as shirt and trousers, Antony
asked--

"How much will it cost me to wash-up? I'd like soap and a towel and to
lie down on a bed for a couple of hours."

The Irish hotel-keeper looked at him. Fairfax took off his hat, and he
didn't explain himself further.

"Well," said Patrick Kenny, "yez don't look very dirthy. Charge fifteen
cents. Pay in advance."

"Show me up," accepted Fairfax, and put the last of Bella's charity into
the man's hand.

CHAPTER III

That was May. Five months later, when the Hudson flowed between flaming
October shores, and the mists of autumn hung like a golden grail on the
air, Fairfax leaned out of the window of the engine-cab and cried to
another man, in another cab on the opposite track--

"Hello, Sanders; how's your health?"

It was the slang greeting of the time. The engineer responded that he
was fine as silk, and rang his bell and passed on his rolling way.

Fairfax wore a red shirt, his trousers were thick with oil and grease.
His collar, open at the neck, showed how finely his head was set upon
his shoulders, and left free the magnificent column of his throat. Down
to his neck came his crisp fair hair, just curling at the ends; his
sleeves were up to his elbows and his bare arms were dirty, vigorous and
powerful, with the muscles standing out like cords. He never looked at
his hands any more, his clever sensitive hands. He had been Joe Mead's
fireman for five months, a record ticket for Joe Mead's cab. Fairfax had
borne cursing and raging from his chief, borne them with equanimity,
feeding into the belly of his engine whatever disgus