t she, to have just finished a supper like that! Honestly,
Peter, what are we going to do?"

"Growl and stay on, as we have for six months. There is better food, but
not for our terms."

Dr. Gates sighed, and picking a soft felt hat from the table put it on
with a single jerk down over her hair.

"Oh, darn money, anyhow!" she said. "Come and walk to the corner with
me. I have a lecture."

Peter promised to follow in a moment, and hurried back to his room.
There, on a page from one of his lecture notebooks, he wrote--

"Are you ill? Or have I done anything?"

"P. B."

This with great care he was pushing under Harmony's door when the little
Bulgarian came along and stopped, smiling. He said nothing, nor did
Peter, who rose and dusted his knees. The little Bulgarian spoke no
English and little German. Between them was the wall of language. But
higher than this barrier was the understanding of their common sex. He
held out his hand, still smiling, and Peter, grinning sheepishly, took
it. Then he followed the woman doctor down the stairs.

To say that Peter Byrne was already in love with Harmony would be
absurd. She attracted him, as any beautiful and helpless girl attracts
an unattracted man. He was much more concerned, now that he feared he
had offended her, than he would have been without this fillip to his
interest. But even his concern did not prevent his taking copious and
intelligent notes at his lecture that night, or interfere with his
enjoyment of the Stein of beer with which, after it was over, he washed
down its involved German.

The engagement at Stewart's irked him somewhat. He did not approve of
Stewart exactly, not from any dislike of the man, but from a lack of
fineness in the man himself--an intangible thing that seems to be a
matter of that unfashionable essence, the soul, as against the clay; of
the thing contained, by an inverse metonymy, for the container.

Boyer, a nerve man from Texas, met him on the street, and they walked
to Stewart's apartment together. The frosty air and the rapid exercise
combined to drive away Byrne's irritation; that, and the recollection
that it was Saturday night and that to-morrow there would be no clinics,
no lectures, no operations; that the great shambles would be closed down
and that priests would read mass to convalescents in the chapels. He was
whistling as he walked along.

Boyer, a much older man, whose wife had come over with him, stopped
under a stree