lured thither by
housekeeping possibilities lurking among the dense screens of Japanese
ivy covering the facade.

Larry Soane, the irresponsible superintendent, always turned gardener
with April's advent in Dragon Court, contributions from its denizens
enabling him to pepper a few flower-beds with hyacinths and tulips,
and later with geraniums. These former bulbs had now gratefully
appeared in promising thickets, and Barres saw the dark form of the
handsome, reckless-looking Irishman fussing over them in the
lantern-lit dusk, while his little daughter, Dulcie, kneeling on the
dim grass, caressed the first blue hyacinth blossom with thin,
childish fingers.

Barres glanced into his letter-box behind the desk, above which a
drop-light threw more shadows than illumination. Little Dulcie Soane
was supposed to sit under it and emit information, deliver and receive
letters, pay charges on packages, and generally supervise things when
she was not attending school.

There were no letters for the young man. He examined a package, found
it contained his collars from the laundry, tucked them under his left
arm, and walked to the door looking out upon the dusky interior
court.

"Soane," he said, "your garden begins to look very fine." He nodded
pleasantly to Dulcie, and the child responded to his friendly greeting
with the tired but dauntless smile of the young who are missing those
golden years to which all childhood has a claim.

Dulcie's three cats came strolling out of the dusk across the lamplit
grass--a coal black one with sea-green eyes, known as "The Prophet,"
and his platonic mate, white as snow, and with magnificent azure-blue
eyes which, in white cats, usually betokens total deafness. She was
known as "The Houri" to the irregulars of Dragon Court. The third cat,
unanimously but misleadingly christened "Strindberg" by the dwellers
in Dragon Court, has already crooked her tortoise-shell tail and was
tearing around in eccentric circles or darting halfway up trees in a
manner characteristic, and, possibly accounting for the name, if not
for the sex.

"Thim cats of the kid's," observed Soane, "do be scratchin' up the
plants all night long--bad cess to thim! Barrin' thim three omadhauns
yonder, I'd show ye a purty bed o' poisies, Misther Barres. But
Sthrin'berg, God help her, is f'r diggin' through to China."

Dulcie impulsively caressed the Prophet, who turned his solemn,
incandescent eyes on Barres. The Houri also