OU!"

I told him where he could go.

We then tossed to see who should pay for the lunch and who should tip
the head waiter. I lost and had to tip the head waiter. We separated,
and as I walked down the Avenue, it seemed as though to the proprietor
of every shop I passed I owed money. Owing them the money I did not so
much mind; what most distressed me was that they were so polite about
it. I had always wanted to reward their patience. A favorite dream of
mine was to be able to walk down Fifth Avenue, my pockets stuffed with
yellow bills, paying off my debts. Compared with my steadily decreasing
income, how enormous my debts appeared; but when compared with the
income of a man worth--say-five million dollars, how ridiculous! I had
no more than reached my apartment, than a messenger-boy arrived with an
envelope. It contained a ticket for a round trip on the New Bedford Line
boat leaving that afternoon, a ticket for a stateroom, and a note from
Curtis Spencer. The latter read: "The boat leaves at six to-night.
You arrive at New Bedford seven to-morrow morning. New Bedford and
Fairharbor are connected by a bridge. CROSS IT!"

I tore the note in tiny fragments, and tossed them through the open
window. I was exceedingly angry. As I stood at the window adding to the
name of Curtis Spencer insulting aliases, the street below sent up hot,
stifling odors: the smoke of taxicabs, the gases of an open subway, the
stale reek of thousands of perspiring, unwashed bodies. From that one
side street seemed to rise the heat and smells of all New York. For
relief I turned to my work-table where lay the opening chapters of
my new novel, "The White Plume of Savoy." But now, in the light
of Spencer's open scorn, I saw it was impudently false, childish,
sentimental. My head ached, the humidity sapped my strength, at heart
I felt sick, sore, discouraged. I was down and out. And seeing this,
Temptation, like an obsequious floorwalker, came hurrying forward.

"And what may I show you to-day?" asked Temptation. He showed me the
upper deck of the New Bedford boat feeling her way between the green
banks of the Sound. A cool wind swept past me bearing clean, salty
odors; on the saloon deck a band played, and from the darkness the
lighthouses winked at me, and in friendly greeting the stars smiled.
Temptation won. In five minutes I was feverishly packing, and at
five-thirty I was on board. I assured myself I had not listened to
Temptation, that I h