in, with its rose silk shades and its window
boxes. And we'll be waited on by velvet-footed servitors, me girl. Get
your hat."

Fanny, protesting, but laughing, too, got it. They took the L. Michigan
avenue, as they approached it from Wabash, was wind-swept and bleak as
only Michigan avenue can be in December. They entered the warm radiance
of the luxurious foyer with a little breathless rush, as wind-blown
Chicagoans generally do. The head waiter must have thought Father
Fitzpatrick a cardinal, at least, for he seated them at a window table
that looked out upon the icy street, with Grant Park, crusted with sooty
snow, just across the way, and beyond that the I. C. tracks and the
great gray lake. The splendid room was all color, and perfume, and
humming conversation. A fountain tinkled in the center, and upon its
waters there floated lily pads and blossoms, weirdly rose, and mauve,
and lavender. The tables were occupied by deliciously slim young
girls and very self-conscious college boys, home for the holidays, and
marcelled matrons, furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks
deepened. She loved luxury. She smiled and flashed at the handsome old
priest opposite her.

"You're a wastrel," she said, "but isn't it nice!" And tasted the first
delicious sip of soup.

"It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us, now and then."
He glanced leisurely about the brilliant room, then out to the street,
bleakly windswept. He leaned back and drummed a bit with his fingers on
the satin-smooth cloth. "Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you
say, off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here? You
used to have a trick of picking out what they call the human side. Your
mother had it, too."

Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes unconsciously following
the track his had taken. About the room, and out, to the icy street.
"The most interesting thing?" Back to the flower-scented room, with its
music, and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. "You see
that man, standing at the curb, across the street. He's sort of crouched
against the lamp post. See him? Yes, there, just this side of that big
gray car? He's all drawn up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He
looks as if he were trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever
since we came in I've noticed him staring straight across at these
windows where we're all sitting so grandly, lunching. I know what he's
thinking, don't yo