man! Lord, man!" he panted, "I--would n't leave New
York--I would n't go out there--for--for a million dollars."

"You damned ass!" growled Barstow.

"I--I would n't--go, if the royal yacht--of the King of England were
waiting for me."

"Some one ought to have the authority to put you in a strait-jacket and
carry you off. I tell you you 're headed for the madhouse, Don!"

Donaldson staggered to his feet. He put his trembling hands on
Barstow's shoulders.

"No," he faltered, "no, I 'm headed for life, for life, Barstow! You
hear me? I 'm headed for a paradise right here in New York."

Barstow felt baffled. The man was in as bad a way as he had ever seen
a man, but he realized the uselessness of combatting that stubborn
will. There was nothing to do but let him go on until he was struck
down helpless. From the bottom of his heart be pitied him. This was
the result of too much brooding alone.

"Peter," he said, "the loneliest place in this world is New York. Are
you going to let it kill you?"

"No! It came near it, but I 've beaten it. I 'm bigger now than the
dear old merciless city. It's mine--down to every dark alley. I 've
got it at my feet, Barstow. It is n't going to kill me, it's going to
make me grow. It is n't any longer my master--it's a good-natured,
obedient servant. New York?" he laughed excitedly. "What is New York
but a little strip of ground underneath the stars?"

"That would sound better if your eyes were clearer and your hand
steadier."

"You 'd expect a man to be battered up a little, would n't you, after a
hard fight? I 've fought the hardest thing in the world there is to
fight--shadows, Barstow, shadows--with the King Shadow itself at their
head."

Was the man raving? It sounded so, but Donaldson's eyes, in spite of
their heaviness, were not so near those of madness as they had been a
moment ago. The startled look had left his face. Every feature stood
out brightly, as though lighted from within. His voice was fuller, and
his language, though obscure, more like that of the old Donaldson.
Barstow was mystified.

"Had n't you better lie down here again?" he suggested.

"I must go, now. What--what time is it, old man?"

"Five minutes past ten."

Donaldson took a deep breath. Time--how it stretched before him like a
flower-strewn path without end. He heard the friendly tick-tock at his
wrists. The minutes were so many jewel boxes, each containing the
choice