aving the saloon, he walked away twenty steps and leaned in the
open doorway of Lutz, the barber. He and Lutz were friends, masking
their sentiments behind abuse and bludgeons of repartee.

"Irish loafer," roared Lutz, "how do you do? So, not yet haf der
bolicemans or der catcher of dogs done deir duty!"

"Hello, Dutch," said Mr. McQuirk. "Can't get your mind off of
frankfurters, can you?"

"Bah!" exclaimed the German, coming and leaning in the door. "I haf
a soul above frankfurters to-day. Dere is springtime in der air. I
can feel it coming in ofer der mud of der streets and das ice in der
river. Soon will dere be bicnics in der islands, mit kegs of beer
under der trees."

"Say," said Mr. McQuirk, setting his hat on one side, "is everybody
kiddin' me about gentle Spring? There ain't any more spring in the
air than there is in a horsehair sofa in a Second Avenue furnished
room. For me the winter underwear yet and the buckwheat cakes."

"You haf no boetry," said Lutz. "True, it is yedt cold, und in der
city we haf not many of der signs; but dere are dree kinds of beoble
dot should always feel der approach of spring first--dey are boets,
lovers and poor vidows."

Mr. McQuirk went on his way, still possessed by the strange
perturbation that he did not understand. Something was lacking to his
comfort, and it made him half angry because he did not know what it
was.

Two blocks away he came upon a foe, one Conover, whom he was bound in
honor to engage in combat.

Mr. McQuirk made the attack with the characteristic suddenness
and fierceness that had gained for him the endearing sobriquet of
"Tiger." The defence of Mr. Conover was so prompt and admirable that
the conflict was protracted until the onlookers unselfishly gave the
warning cry of "Cheese it--the cop!" The principals escaped easily
by running through the nearest open doors into the communicating
backyards at the rear of the houses.

Mr. McQuirk emerged into another street. He stood by a lamp-post
for a few minutes engaged in thought and then he turned and plunged
into a small notion and news shop. A red-haired young woman, eating
gum-drops, came and looked freezingly at him across the ice-bound
steppes of the counter.

"Say, lady," he said, "have you got a song book with this in it.
Let's see how it leads off--

"'When the springtime comes we'll wander in the dale, love,
And whisper of those days of yore--'

"I'm having a friend," explain