ones agreeably put in.
"I want your views on that case, 'The Matter of Ziegler.'"

"Hum! Ha! Got yourself in a mess. Yaas. I remember. Been served yet?
Give me the facts."

One after another, Jones produced them.

During their recital, Dunwoodie twirled his thumbs. At their conclusion,
he expressed himself with entire freedom. After which, he saw Jones to
the door, an act which he performed only when he felt particularly
uncivil. At the moment the old bulldog's lip was lifted. But not at
Jones.

Broad Street was very bright that day. Its brilliance did not extend to
the market. Values were departing. The slump was on. Speculators,
investors, the long and the shorts, bank-messengers, broker's-clerks,
jostled Jones, who went around the corner, where a cavern gaped and
swallowed him.

Crashingly the express carried him uptown. He did not know but that he
might have lingered. There is always room at the top, though perhaps it
is unwise to buy there. At the bottom, there is room too, much more. It
is very gloomy, but it is the one safe place. Jones did not think that
the market had got there yet. None the less it was inviting. On the
other hand, he did think he might eat something. There was a restaurant
that he wot of where, the week before, he had had a horrible bite. The
restaurant was nauseating, but convenient. To that dual attraction he
succumbed.

At table there, he meditated on the inscrutable possibilities of life
which, he decided, is full of changes, particularly in the subway;
whereupon a tale in Perrault's best manner occurred to him.

A waiter, loutish and yet infinitely dreary, intervened. Jones paid and
went out on the upper reaches of Broadway. The fairy-tale that he had
evoked accompanied him. It was charmful as only a fairy-tale can be. But
the end, while happy, was hazy. He did not at all know whether it would
do.

Abruptly he awoke.

"Will you come in?" Cassy was saying.

She had her every-day manner, her every-day clothes, her usual hat.
Jones, noting these details, inwardly commended them. But at once,
another detail was apparent. The entrance to the room where the _Bella
figlia_ had been succeeded by a dirge, was blocked. There was a table in
it.

Cassy motioned. "I was trying to get it out when it got itself wedged
there. Will you crawl under it, as I have to, or would you prefer to use
it as a divan?"

"Where your ladyship crawleth, I will crawl," Jones gravely replied. "I
just lov