ed Mr. McQuirk, "laid up with a broken
leg, and he sent me after it. He's a devil for songs and poetry when
he can't get out to drink."

"We have not," replied the young woman, with unconcealed contempt.
"But there is a new song out that begins this way:

"'Let us sit together in the old arm-chair;
And while the firelight flickers we'll be comfortable there.'"

There will be no profit in following Mr. "Tiger" McQuirk through his
further vagaries of that day until he comes to stand knocking at the
door of Annie Maria Doyle. The goddess Eastre, it seems, had guided
his footsteps aright at last.

"Is that you now, Jimmy McQuirk?" she cried, smiling through the
opened door (Annie Maria had never accepted the "Tiger"). "Well,
whatever!"

"Come out in the hall," said Mr. McQuirk. "I want to ask yer opinion
of the weather--on the level."

"Are you crazy, sure?" said Annie Maria.

"I am," said the "Tiger." "They've been telling me all day there was
spring in the air. Were they liars? Or am I?"

"Dear me!" said Annie Maria--"haven't you noticed it? I can almost
smell the violets. And the green grass. Of course, there ain't any
yet--it's just a kind of feeling, you know."

"That's what I'm getting at," said Mr. McQuirk. "I've had it.
I didn't recognize it at first. I thought maybe it was en-wee,
contracted the other day when I stepped above Fourteenth Street. But
the katzenjammer I've got don't spell violets. It spells yer own
name, Annie Maria, and it's you I want. I go to work next Monday, and
I make four dollars a day. Spiel up, old girl--do we make a team?"

"Jimmy," sighed Annie Maria, suddenly disappearing in his overcoat,
"don't you see that spring is all over the world right this minute?"

But you yourself remember how that day ended. Beginning with so fine
a promise of vernal things, late in the afternoon the air chilled
and an inch of snow fell--even so late in March. On Fifth Avenue the
ladies drew their winter furs close about them. Only in the florists'
windows could be perceived any signs of the morning smile of the
coming goddess Eastre.

At six o'clock Herr Lutz began to close his shop. He heard a
well-known shout: "Hello, Dutch!"

"Tiger" McQuirk, in his shirt-sleeves, with his hat on the back of
his head, stood outside in the whirling snow, puffing at a black
cigar.

"Donnerwetter!" shouted Lutz, "der vinter, he has gome back again
yet!"

"Yer a liar, Dutch," called back Mr. McQu