ess and fame, whose very
sound to him now was like the knell of fate. At the end of the letter he
said--

"I am studying mechanics. I reckon you'll laugh at me, mother, but they
are useful to a sculptor."

And she had not laughed in the way he meant as she kissed his letter and
wet it with her tears.

CHAPTER IV

No Sunday duties took him to the yards, and washed and dressed, shaved
and brushed, he became a beautiful man of the world, in a new overcoat
and a new sleek hat, and over his hands thick doeskin gloves. He could
afford to pay for his clothes, and like this he left Nut Street every
Sunday at nine o'clock, not to see West Albany again till midnight. On
the seventh day of the week he was a mystery to his chums and his
landlady, and if any one in Nut Street had had time to be suspicious and
curious they might have given themselves the trouble of following
Fairfax. There were not many idlers, however, and no saloons. Drunkards
were unwelcome, and Sunday was a day of rest for decent hard workers.
When Antony, in his elegance, came out he used to pass between fathers
of families in their shirt sleeves, if it were warm weather, and between
complacent couples, and many of the hands slept all day. The most
curious eyes were those of Molly Shannon, the girl at the restaurant,
and her eyes were more than curious.

Fairfax had been courteous to her, bidding her good-morning in a way
that made her feel as though she were a lady. He had been there for his
breakfast and lunch several months until finally Molly Shannon drove him
away. This she did not do by her boldness, for she was not bold, but by
her comeliness and her sex and her smile. Fairfax fed his Pride in his
savage immolation before the monster of iron and steel; by his slavery
to work he revenged himself upon his class. His Pride grew; he stood up
against Fate, and he thought he was doing a very fine thing, when his
Pride also stood up in the restaurant when he took his cup of coffee
from the red-handed girl of the people, pretty Molly Shannon from
Killarney. Fairfax went farther up the street. He found another eating
house, and later ate his sandwich on his knees at noon in the cab of his
engine.

When Molly Shannon found that he was not coming there for his coffee any
more, she grew listless, and doled out food to the other men with a lack
of science and interest that won her sharp reproofs and coarse jokes.
From her window over the restaurant she