and the asperities of Charles-Norton himself also.
Gone for the two years had been the old uncertainties, the vague
tumults, the blind surges. Yes, he was happy.

This word happy, for the second time on his tongue, set him a-dreaming.
A picture came floating before his eyes. And curiously enough, it was
not of Dolly, nor of the padded little flat----

It was of a boy, a boy in blue overalls and cotton shirt, lying on his
back amid the wild oats of a golden land, his eyes to the sky, watching
up there the free wide circle of a hawk----

"Soy, Mister, wot the deuce do you think you're doing?" shouted a husky
and protesting voice in his ear.

And Charles-Norton came back precipitously to the present. By his side a
pale youth was squirming indignantly. Charles-Norton's elbow was in the
youth's ribs, and his elbow was still stirring with the last oscillation
of the movement that had agitated it. "Soy," cried the youth in disgust;
"d'yous think you's a chicken?"

"I beg your pardon," said Charles-Norton, in an agony of humility; "I beg
your pardon."

But the youth refused to be mollified. Though he said nothing more, he
kept upon Charles-Norton the snarl of his pale face and at regular
intervals rubbed his ribs as though they pained him exceedingly.
Charles-Norton was glad to reach his station.

That morning, in his glass cage, he muddled his columns several times. He
was far from an admirable accountant at his best; but this day he was
what he termed "the limit." Totals fled him like birds, with a whir of
wings. A sun-gleam hypnotized him once, for he did not know how long; and
his nose, a little later, followed for several gymnastic minutes the
flutter of a white moth.

At lunch, in Konrad's Bakery, he found himself seated, by a singular
chance, next to the very same youth whose ribs he had crushed on the
Elevated a few hours before. The young man was in more amiable mood. He
grinned. "Don't you flap again and spill me coffee, Mr. Chicken," he
said, with delicate persiflage.

"I won't," said Charles-Norton. "I'll buy you another cup if I do."

"Got a dollar?" asked the youth, irrelevantly. His thin, pale nose
quivered a bit.

"I don't know," said Charles-Norton, hesitatingly. Dollars were big in
his budget. "Why?"

The youth drew from a pocket a yellow cardboard. "Got a lottery ticket I
want to sell," he said easily. "Little Texas. Hundred Thousand first
prize and lots of other prizes. Got to sell it to pay