ing sheet had failed to rouse him, and an afternoon
swim at the Bath Club had been terminated by sheer boredom. Dinner at
his club had failed to produce any congenial spirits, and in desperation
he went to the Tivoli.

A few of the turns he enjoyed in a mild and deprecating fashion, but at
ten-thirty he found himself on the steps, bitterly reflecting on the
defects of modern civilization.

"London!" he thought moodily, "a city of six million people, and not a
thing for me to do. Shall I go to bed?"

It seemed a confession of weakness; besides he was not in the least
sleepy. So he discarded the unworthy thought, and set out on an aimless
ramble through the streets. There is always something to look at in
London, something to interest, even though it be but the policeman
directing the traffic; and Tony soon found his languor past and
good-humor returning. He liked being among a crowd of people, watching,
speculating, enjoying. The Strand was one of his favorite haunts,
especially at night when the lamps were lit and the theaters discharging
their motley audiences. In Piccadilly Circus at eleven o'clock,
Shaftesbury Avenue, Aldwych, or the Strand, a man need never feel bored,
though he may feel rebellious.

Tony walked slowly on, stopping occasionally to observe the people. He
looked at his watch presently and found that it was past eleven. "Early
yet," he reflected; "what's the use of going home? Shall I try the club
or a longer walk? The Embankment ... a nocturne of lamps and water ...
and ... yes! that would be a new game! Forward!"

He turned down to the right and soon found himself by the Thames. Here
he proceeded to practise the new game which had just occurred to his
active brain. It was simple, if ghoulish, for he merely did his best to
imitate a would-be suicide. Turning up his collar and setting his hat a
little on the back of his head, he plunged his hands deep into his
pockets and assumed an expression of despair. Then he walked slowly
along, at times glancing at the river and ostentatiously avoiding the
eyes of chance policemen. Presently he stopped, leaned both his elbows
on the parapet, and stared gloomily at the Thames. His maneuvers were
crowned with success, for a constable soon approached and told him in a
kindly tone to move on. Tony replied in a sepulchral voice, and in a few
moments was deep in conversation with his preserver. A fictitious tale
of cards and drink exercised the powers of his imagi