ely hung together on his lank frame; he was
barefoot and hatless; a great mop of black hair topped his shrewd,
rugged face; coal-black eyes snapped and twinkled beneath shaggy brows
and a delighted, knowing grin spread slowly over his rather boyish
countenance. He was not a creature to strike terror to the heart of any
one; on the contrary, his mischievous, sprightly face produced an
impression of genuine good humour and absolute indifference to the harsh
things of life.

Long, thin lips curled into a smile of delicious regard; his sides shook
with the quiet chuckle of understanding. He did not lose his smile, even
when the match burned his finger tips and fell to the floor of the car.
Instead, the grin was broader when he struck the second match and
resumed his amused scrutiny of his fellow-lodgers. This time he
practised thrift: he lighted a cigarette with the match before tossing
it aside. Then he softly slid the car door back in its groove and looked
out into the moist, impenetrable night. A deep sigh left his smiling
lips; a retrospective langour took possession of his long frame; he
sighed again, and still he smiled.

Leaning against the side of the door this genial gypsy smoked in
blissful silence until the stub grew so short that it burned his already
singed fingers. He was thinking of other days and nights, and of many
maids in far-off lands, and of countless journeys in which he, too, had
had fair and gentle company--short journeys, yes, but not to be
forgotten. Ah, to be knight of the road and everlasting squire to the
Goddess of Love! He always had been that--ever since he could remember;
he had loved a hundred briefly; none over long. It was the only way.

Once more he turned to look upon the sleeping pair. This time he lighted
the stub of a tallow candle. The tender, winning smile in his dark eyes
grew to positive radiance. Ah, how he envied this great, sleeping
wayfarer! How beautiful his mistress! How fortunate the lover! And how
they slept--how tired they were! Whence had they come? From what distant
land had they travelled together to reach this holiday-garnished city in
the hills? Vagabonds, tramps! They were of his world, a part of his
family; he knew and had loved a hundred of her sisters, he was one of a
hundred-thousand brothers to this man.

Why should he stay here to spoil their waking hour? The thought came to
him suddenly. No; he would surrender his apartment to them. He was free
and foot-