Jordantown, if one excepted an occasional bandanna-headed negress. Not a
fan had been purchased, not a paper of pins, nor a yard of lace. Trade
languished. Nobody knew yet what was wrong, but every man on the square
missed something. They thought they were still worried about the Mosely
will, and they were. But over and above that they had a sense of not
being entirely present. For a man to be sufficiently conscious of
himself, there must always be the possibility of a woman in sight before
whom he may magnify himself at least in his own imagination. The
Jordantown Square citizens lacked this mirror. They wandered from
corner to corner expecting to find it, to see somewhere near or far the
flutter of a woman's skirt, the sky of a woman's eyes. But they did not
know that this was what they were after. Each one pretended to himself
that he was looking for another man. And when two of them met, they went
on to the next corner together, both looking for some one else. Then
they separated, excused themselves, each hurrying in the opposite
direction.

The afternoon passed. Clerks were idle; they stood in doorways looking
up and down the street. Prominent citizens left their chairs beneath the
courthouse awning to avoid other prominent citizens whom they saw
approaching. Still they could not avoid one another.

"Any news?" asked Acres of Coleman, whom he met coming out of the
courthouse.

"Not a thing. Clerk says no will has been probated there to-day. Briggs
was right. There isn't any. He thinks the court will appoint him
administrator."

"And he looks his thought," sneered Acres; "been strutting around all
the afternoon, swelled fit to burst."

"Well, he may, nobody can tell. See you later," said Coleman, hastening
his steps.

"Wait! hold on! I thought you were going in my direction. I wanted to
ask you something," exclaimed Acres, detaining him.

"No, I'm going back to the bank. What?"

"Have you seen Mike?"

"Yes, just from his office. Sent for me. No, he says he's in the dark,
too," answered Coleman, still struggling against this companionship.

"He's always in the dark. Would be if he knew all about it," Acres
grumbled.

At this moment the huge amorphous figure of a man emerged sidewise from
the staircase of the National Bank Building. He looked back up the
stairs, shot a glance up and down the street, then he moved like a blur
around the corner into the darkening shadows. This was a habit he had
which t