ave.
It seemed like desertion. As he still stood irresolute, she decided
for him.

"You must go now," she insisted.

"Will you call me if you are even so much as worried--even if it is
only a blind making a noise?"

"Yes, and that will make me feel quite safe."

The booming of a distant clock--jailer of civilization--warned him that
he must delay no longer. He took her hand a moment and then turned
back into his free barren world.

He determined to dine somewhere down town and then spend the evening at
a theatre. It was not what he wished, but he did not dare to go back
to his room. He did not crave the movement of the crowds as he had
last night, and yet he felt the need of something that would keep him
from thinking. He jumped into the waiting cab and was driven to Park
Row, where he got out. He had not eaten anything all day and felt
faint.

Instead, however, of seeking one of the more pretentious dining rooms
he dropped into a quiet restaurant and ate a simple meal. Then he came
out and started to walk leisurely towards the Belasco.

He had not proceeded a hundred yards before his plan was very
materially changed. He heard a cry, turned quickly, and saw a
messenger boy sprawling in the street. The boy, in darting across, had
tripped over a rope attached to an automobile having a second large
machine in tow. The latter, the driver unable to turn because of
vehicles which had crowded in on both sides of it, was bearing down
upon the boy, who was either stunned or too frightened to move. This
Donaldson took in at a glance as he dived under the belly of a horse,
seized the boy and, having time for nothing else, held him above his
head, dropping him upon the radiator of the approaching machine as it
bore him to the ground. The chauffeur had shoved on his brakes, but
they were weak. The momentum threw Donaldson hard enough to stun him
for a moment and was undoubtedly sufficient to have killed the boy.

When Donaldson rose to his feet he found himself uninjured but
something of a hero. Several newspaper photographers who happened to
be passing (as newspaper photographers have a way of doing) snapped
him. A reporter friend of Saul's recognized him and asked for a
statement.

"A statement be hanged," snorted Donaldson. "Where's the kid?"

"Well," returned the newspaper man, "I 'm darned if I don't make a
statement to you then; that was the quickest and nerviest stunt I 've
ever seen pulled off i