melodies
ruled the happy hour.

And supple forms like this he had often seen flitting among the
copses of the Margarethe Insel, when the yellow sunset rays shone
golden on the gleaming Danube, and the purple shadows began to steal
over the old fortress high uplifted there above Hungary's capital.
Here was a truant beauty escaped from a land of dreams.

Clayton had followed the unknown over Broadway's dangerously choked
throat, before the music roll gave him his clue. He was now in the
musical center of New York, and in proximity to the modest foreign
theaters where a conscientious art flourishes, as yet unknown to
the garish play-houses of upper Broadway.

Some visiting singer, some transplanted "Kuenstlerinn," he conjectured
as, never ceasing that queenly stride, the unknown crossed Fourth
Avenue toward the vicinity of Steinway's and the Irving Place
Theater.

As yet he had not seen that bewitching face again, for he was a
laggard in pursuit, his coward conscience smiting him for his first
errant detour.

It seemed as if the money in that portmanteau rustled a portentous
warning, but "a spirit in his feet" led him to execute a quick
left-flank movement as he sped first across the triangle, passing
under the shadow of the Washington statue (pride of the job brass
founder), and, with a stolen side glance, he surveyed the lady
once more, as she leisurely mounted the steps of the "Restaurant
Bavaria."

His eyes dropped in a strange confusion as he once more met the
sweetly serious glance of those wonderful eyes, now resting upon
him with a gleam of vaguely timid inquiry. The delicately moulded
arm and slender hand were revealed, as with a graceful sweep the
lady lifted her rustling drapery and disappeared within the doors
of the one foreign cafe lingering reluctant on Union Square.

With a sigh, Randall Clayton turned back toward the south, for a
hasty glance at a clock face told him that there was left him but
fifteen minutes wherein to reach the Bank, before the brazen bells
would clang high noon. His heart was beating strangely as he retraced
his steps, for the ichor of young blood was boiling in his veins
at last.

He was lost in a clouding day dream, as he recrossed Fourth Avenue
and only dimly saw the foxy face of his office boy flash out of
the jostling crowd on the corner before he darted over.

As he resolutely stemmed the tide pouring eastward, he had turned
down Broadway before he realized that