and red-faced man of forty
intently eying him. The man spoke decisively and at once:

"Mr. Guilford? Quite so. I am Mr. West."

"You are--" The poet's smile flickered like a sickly candle. "I--this
is--are you Mr. _Stanley_ West?"

"I am."

"It must--it probably was your son----"

"I am unmarried," said the president of the Occidental tartly, "and the
only Stanley West in the directory."

The poet swayed, then sat down rather suddenly on a Louis XIV chair
which crackled. Several times he passed an ample hand over his features.
A mechanical smile struggled to break out, but it was not _the_ smile,
any more than glucose is sugar.

"Did--ah--_did_ you receive two tickets for the New Arts
Theater--ah--Mr. West?" he managed to say at last.

"I did. Thank you very much, but I was not able to avail myself----"

"Quite so. And--ah--do you happen to know who it was that--ah--presented
your tickets and occupied the seats this afternoon?"

"Why, I suppose it was two young men in our employ--Mr. Lethbridge, who
appraises property for us, and Mr. Harrow, one of our brokers. May I ask
why?"

For a long while the poet sat there, eyes squeezed tightly closed as
though in bodily anguish. Then he opened one of them:

"They are--ah--quite penniless, I presume?"

"They have prospects," said West briefly. "Why?"

The poet rose; something of his old attitude returned; he feebly gazed
at a priceless Massero vase, made a half-hearted attempt to join thumb
and forefinger, then rambled toward the door, where two spotless
flunkies attended with his hat and overcoat.

"Mr. Guilford," said West, following, a trifle perplexed and remorseful,
"I should be very--er--extremely happy to subscribe to the New Arts
Theater--if that is what you wished."

"Thank you," said the poet absently as a footman invested him with a
seal-lined coat.

"Is there anything more I could do for you, Mr. Guilford?"

The poet's abstracted gaze rested on him, then shifted.

"I--I don't feel very well," said the poet hoarsely, sitting down in a
hall-seat. Suddenly he began to cry, fatly.

Nobody did anything; the stupefied footman gaped; West looked, walked
nervously the length of the hall, looked again, and paced the inlaid
floor to and fro, until the bell at the door sounded and a messenger-boy
appeared with a note scribbled on a yellow telegraph blank:

"Lethbridge and I just married and madly happy. Will be on hand
Monday, sure. Can't you adv