er could work, sat Norman
and his friend Gaskill, a fellow member of the Federal Club, and about a
score of broken and battered tramps. The supper or breakfast was going
forward in admirable order. Gaskill, whom Norman had picked up a few
hours before, showed signs of having done some drinking. But not Norman.
It is true his clothing might have looked fresher; but hardly the man
himself.

"Just in time!" he cried out genially, at sight of Tetlow. "Sit down
with us. Waiter, a chair next to mine. Gentlemen, Mr. Tetlow. Mr.
Tetlow, gentlemen. What'll you have, old man?"

Tetlow declined champagne, accepted half a dozen of the huge oysters.
"I've been after you for nearly a week," said he to Norman.

"Pity you weren't _with_ me," said Norman. "I've been getting acquainted
with large numbers of my fellow citizens."

"From the Bowery to Yonkers."

"Exactly. Don't fall asleep, Gaskill."

But Gaskill was snoring with his head on the back of his chair and his
throat presented as if for the as of the executioner. "He's all in,"
said Tetlow.

"That's the way it goes," complained Norman. "I can't find anyone to
keep me company."

Tetlow laughed. "You look as if you had just started out," said he.
"Tell me--_where_ have you slept?"

"I haven't had time to sleep as yet."

"I dropped in to suggest that a little sleep wouldn't do any harm."

"Not quite yet. Watch our friends eat. It gives me an appetite. Waiter,
another dozen all round--and some more of this carbonated white wine
you've labeled champagne."

As he called out this order, a grunt of satisfaction ran round the row
of human derelicts. Tetlow shuddered, yet was moved and thrilled, too,
as he glanced from face to face--those hideous hairy countenances,
begrimed and beslimed, each countenance expressing in its own repulsive
way the one emotion of gratified longing for food and drink. "Where did
you get 'em?" inquired he.

"From the benches in Madison Square," replied Norman. He laughed
queerly. "Recognize yourself in any of those mugs, Tetlow?" he asked.

Tetlow shivered. "I should say not!" he exclaimed.

Norman's eyes gleamed. "I see myself in all of 'em," said he.

"Poor wretches!" muttered Tetlow.

"Pity wasted," he rejoined. "You might feel sorry for a man on the way
to where they've got. But once arrived--as well pity a dead man sleeping
quietly in his box with three feet of solid earth between him and
worries of every kind."

"Shake this crowd,"