ut warning. But in the very bitterness of his melancholy he knew
at last his disease. It was not champagne or recreation that he
needed, not even a "po'k-chop," although his desire for it had been a
symptom, a groping for a too homeopathic remedy: he was homesick.

Easy, childish tears came into his eyes, and ran over his shining
cheeks. He shivered forlornly with a sudden sense of cold, and
absently clutched at the lapels of his gorgeous, fur-lined ulster.

Then in abrupt reaction he laughed aloud, so that the shrill, musical
falsetto startled the passers-by, and in another moment a little
semicircle of the curious watched spellbound as a black man,
exquisitely appareled, danced in wild, loose grace before the dull
background of a somewhat grimy and apparently vacant window. A newsboy
recognized him.

He heard his name being passed from mouth to mouth, and came partly to
his senses. He stopped dancing, and grinned at them.

"Say, you are Gideon, ain't you?" his discoverer demanded, with a sort
of reverent audacity.

"Yaas, _seh_," said Gideon; "that's me. Yo' shu got it right." He
broke into a joyous peal of laughter--the laughter that had made him
famous, and bowed deeply before him. "Gideon--posi-_tive_-ly his las'
puffawmunce." Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, still
laughing, swung aboard.

He was naturally honest. In a land of easy morality his friends had
accounted him something of a paragon; nor had Stuhk ever had anything
but praise for him. But now he crushed aside the ethics of his intent
without a single troubled thought. Running away has always been
inherent in the negro. He gave one regretful thought to the gorgeous
wardrobe he was leaving behind him; but he dared not return for it.
Stuhk might have taken it into his head to go back to their rooms. He
must content himself with the reflection that he was at that moment
wearing his best.

The trolley seemed too slow for him, and, as always happened nowadays,
he was recognized; he heard his name whispered, and was aware of the
admiring glances of the curious. Even popularity had its drawbacks. He
got down in front of a big hotel and chose a taxicab from the waiting
rank, exhorting the driver to make his best speed to the station.
Leaning back in the soft depths of the cab, he savored his
independence, cheered already by the swaying, lurching speed. At the
station he tipped the driver in lordly fashion, very much pleased with
himself and