nglish paper will print it. In that day God shall be One and His name
One. Do you understand?" Her lips twitched faintly, but only her eyes
spoke with the light of love and joy. His own look met hers, and for a
moment husband and wife were one in a spiritual ecstasy.

Then the light in Hulda's eyes went out, and the two men were left in
darkness.

The Red Beadle turned away and left Zussmann to his dead, and, with
scalding tears running down his cheek, pulled up the cotton window
blind and gazed out unseeing into the night.

Presently his vision cleared: he found himself watching the milk-cart
drive off, and, following it towards the frowsy avenue of Brick Lane,
he beheld what seemed to be a drunken fight in progress. He saw a
policeman, gesticulating females, the nondescript nocturnal crowd of
the sleepless city. The old dull hopelessness came over him. "Nature
makes herself," he murmured in despairing resignation.

Suddenly he became aware that Zussmann was beside him, looking up at
the stars.

THE JOYOUS COMRADE

"Well, what are you gaping at? Why the devil don't you say something?"
And all the impatience of the rapt artist at being interrupted by
anything but praise was in the outburst.

"Holy Moses!" I gasped. "Give a man a chance to get his breath. I fall
through a dark antechamber over a bicycle, stumble round a screen,
and--smack! a glare of Oriental sunlight from a gigantic canvas, the
vibration and glow of a group of joyous figures, reeking with life and
sweat! You the Idealist, the seeker after Nature's beautiful moods and
Art's beautiful patterns!"

"Beautiful moods!" he echoed angrily. "And why isn't this a beautiful
mood? And what more beautiful pattern than this--look! this line, this
sweep, this group here, this clinging of the children round this
mass--all in a glow--balanced by this mass of cool shadow. The meaning
doesn't interfere with the pattern, you chump!"

"Oh, so there _is_ a meaning! You've become an anecdotal painter."

"Adjectives be hanged! I can't talk theory in the precious daylight.
If you can't see--!"

"I can see that you are painting something _you_ haven't seen. You
haven't been in the East, have you?"

"If I had, I haven't got time to jaw about it now. Come and have an
absinthe at the Cafe Victor--in memory of old Paris days--Sixth
Avenue--any of the boys will tell you. Let me see, daylight till
six--half-past six. _Au 'voir, au 'voir._"

As I went down the