to make young
hope spring from old graves and age forget its years, and youth mad with
its handicaps; a day to inspire passion, talent, desire, and to make
even goodness take new wings.

With the crowd of interested and curious, Antony Fairfax entered Central
Park through the Seventy-second Street gate. Lines of carriages extended
far into Fifth Avenue, and he walked along by the side of a smart
victoria where a pretty woman sat under her sunshade and smiled on the
world and spring. Fairfax saw that she was young and worldly, and
thought for some time of his mother, of women he might have known, and
when the victoria passed him, caught the lady's glance as her look
wandered over the crowd. A May-day party of school children spread over
the lawn at his left, the pole's bright streamers fluttering in the
breeze. The children danced gaily, too small to care for the unveiling
of statues or for ancient Egypt. The bright scene and the day's gladness
struck Antony harsh as a glare in weakened eyes. He was gloomy and
sardonic, his heart beating out of tune, his genial nature had been
turned to gall.

The Mall was roped off, and at an extempore gate a man in uniform
received the cards of admission. Fairfax remembered the day he had
endeavoured to enter the Field Palace and his failure.

"I'm a mechanic," he said hastily to the gateman, "one of Mr.
Cedersholm's workmen."

The man pushed him through, and he went in with a group of students from
Columbia College.

In a corner of the Mall, on the site he had indicated to the little
cousins, rose a white object covered by a sheeting, which fell to the
ground. Among the two hundred persons gathered were people of
distinction. There was to be speech-making. Fairfax did not know this or
who the speakers were to be. All that he knew or cared was that at three
o'clock of this Saturday his Beasts--his four primitive creatures--were
to be unveiled. He wore his workday clothes, his Pride had led him to
make the arrogant display of his contempt of the class he had deserted.
His hat was pushed back on his blond head. His blue eyes sparkled and he
thrust his disfigured hands into his pockets to keep them quiet. The
lady beside whose carriage he had stood came into the roped-off
enclosure, and found a place opposite Fairfax. Once more her eyes fell
on the workman's handsome face. He looked out of harmony with the people
who had gathered to see the unveiling of Mr. Cedersholm's pedestal.