he inquired.

"Not to-night." Eastman handed him a bill. "Bring some change in the
morning. There'll be fees."

Rollins lost no time in putting everything to rights for the night,
and Eastman couldn't help wishing that he were in such a hurry to be
off somewhere himself. When he heard the hall door close softly, he
wondered if there were any place, after all, that he wanted to go.
From his window he looked down at the long lines of motors and taxis
waiting for a signal to cross Broadway. He thought of some of their
probable destinations and decided that none of those places pulled
him very hard. The night was warm and wet, the air was drizzly.
Vapor hung in clouds about the _Times_ Building, half hid the top of
it, and made a luminous haze along Broadway. While he was looking
down at the army of wet, black carriage-tops and their reflected
headlights and tail-lights, Eastman heard a ring at his door. He
deliberated. If it were a caller, the hall porter would have
telephoned up. It must be the janitor. When he opened the door,
there stood a rosy young man in a tuxedo, without a coat or hat.

"Pardon. Should I have telephoned? I half thought you wouldn't be
in."

Eastman laughed. "Come in, Cavenaugh. You weren't sure whether you
wanted company or not, eh, and you were trying to let chance decide
it? That was exactly my state of mind. Let's accept the verdict."
When they emerged from the narrow hall into his sitting-room, he
pointed out a seat by the fire to his guest. He brought a tray of
decanters and soda bottles and placed it on his writing table.

Cavenaugh hesitated, standing by the fire. "Sure you weren't
starting for somewhere?"

"Do I look it? No, I was just making up my mind to stick it out
alone when you rang. Have one?" he picked up a tall tumbler.

"Yes, thank you. I always do."

Eastman chuckled. "Lucky boy! So will I. I had a very early dinner.
New York is the most arid place on holidays," he continued as he
rattled the ice in the glasses. "When one gets too old to hit the
rapids down there, and tired of gobbling food to heathenish dance
music, there is absolutely no place where you can get a chop and
some milk toast in peace, unless you have strong ties of blood
brotherhood on upper Fifth Avenue. But you, why aren't you starting
for somewhere?"

The young man sipped his soda and shook his head as he replied:

"Oh, I couldn't get a chop, either. I know only flashy people, of
course." He looked