es of sorrow and tragedy in
faces that had seen better days, but had somehow lost their way.

Stuart's heart went out to the passing crowd in a throb of
sympathy--these slaves of the Modern Invisible Master without a
soul--who asked always and without comment for efficiency and economy.
They must make money for him or fall by the wayside, and, if they fell,
the master never knew and couldn't care.

He ate his dinner in a whirl of confused emotion and again found
himself on Broadway walking at a furious pace uptown. He had no idea
how furious the pace until he suddenly noticed that he was an object of
mild curiosity. He slackened his speed, conscious at last that big
forces were fighting within the first pitched battle for the mastery of
life.

Could high ideals survive the white heat of this furnace--the focus of
the modern world's fiercest desire to live and to will--the money
centre of the earth? Was not the whole structure of Society at last
thoroughly materialistic? Was not religion merely a tradition, honour
and virtue merely the themes of song and story? Had not self and
self-interest at last become the sole force behind all great deeds? It
looked that way. Then why should any man be a sentimental fool? Why not
grasp the main chance?

Why not turn now and beat Bivens at his own game? There was yet time to
accept his offer, join his powerful group of the exploiters of modern
industry, crush this little shrimp in the hollow of his fist at last,
and take the woman he loved from him by the law of might. Deep within
he felt throbbing forces of savage cruelty that in the centuries of the
past had given his ancestors the leadership of men before the finer
virtues of love and mercy which permitted a Bivens to exist had been
born. The big nostrils of his long straight nose dilated, the white
hard teeth of his strong jaw snapped, and his eyes flashed.

Why not?

Again and again these fierce questions surged within. The "Great White
Way" flashed its splendours of electric light. But there was no warmth
in it for his spirit. He noted to-night for the first time that the
lights were not hung on high for the joy of those who pass. They were
flames in the temple of the new god Mammon. They were the signs of
hucksters who had goods to sell to the crowds at a profit. The
profusion of light, the rush of eager throngs to the theatres, the
flash and clatter of passing carriages, the streets piled with debris,
the half-finishe