ered in his head as he stammered out that he was a ruined
man, that he had cast off a good wife for a deceitful hussy who
only wanted his money, that he had lost his child, that now his
career was over, and that, unless I stood by him, he would end his
days in prison. This was hardly the sort of encouragement I wanted;
and though his words brought the cold sweat out upon my back, I
told him pretty sharply that he had better pull himself together
and not be any more of a fool than he could help, that all we needed
was enough money to whip Hawkins out of the way, and that if he
would "come up" with the needful we would look out for him. I left
him a disgusting sight, sitting in a red plush armchair, with his
face in his hands, his hair streaking down across his forehead,
moaning and mumbling to himself.

Outside, the city slept the prenatal sleep of dawn. A pale greenish
veil hung over the roofs, through which day must peer before
awakening those who slept beneath. I had often noticed this greenish
color in the sky, made doubtless by the flare of gas and electricity
against the blue-black zenith, yet never before had I felt its
depressing character. It was the green of jealousy, of disappointment,
of envy, hatred, and malice and all uncharitableness! The city
trembled in its sleep and the throbbing of its mighty pulse beat
evilly upon my ears with distant hostile rumblings. I was alone
in it and in danger. Disaster and ruin were looking for me around
the corner. I was like a child, helpless and homeless. I could
not call upon God, for I did not believe in Him.

It came home to me, as I stood there in the night upon the open
street, that there was not one soul among all the city's sleeping
millions who owed me aught but harm, and that even those who had
drunk the wine of my hospitality had done so more in fear than in
friendship. I had no friends but those who were bound to me in
some devil's bargain--no kith, no kin, nor the memory of a mother's
love. As I lingered there, like some outcast beast waiting for
day to drive me to my lair, I envied, with a fierce hatred and with
a bitter and passionate pity for myself, those to whom Fate had
been more kind and given home and wife and children, or at least
the affection of their fellow men, and I envied the lads I had
known in college who led clean lives and who had shunned me--they
knew not why--and the happy-go-lucky Quirk and his busy wife; and
even old Tucker