asement hallway. Pausing, he delivered unto her the
major portion of his week's wage. Setting aside another certain amount
against the cost of laundry work, tobacco, and incidentals, he had
five dollars left....

He wondered if he dared risk the extravagance of a modest supper after
the theatre; and knew he dared not--knew it in wretchedness of spirit,
cursing his fate....

There remained half an hour to be killed before time to start for the
theatre. George Bross joined him on the stoop. They smoked pensively,
while the afterglow faded from the western sky and veil after veil of
shadow crept stealthily out of the east, masking the rectangular,
utilitarian ugliness of the street, deepening its dusk to darkness.
Street lamps, touched by the flame-tipped wand of a belated
lamplighter, bourgeoned spasmodically like garish flowers of the
metropolitan night. Across the way gas-lit windows glowed like squares
on some great, blurred checker-board. The roadway teemed with
shrieking children. Somewhere--near at hand--a pianola lost its temper
and whaled the everlasting daylights out of an inoffensive melody from
"The Pink Lady." Other, more diffident instruments tinkled
apologetically in the distance. Intermittently, across the gaunt
scaffolding of the Ninth Avenue L, at one end of the block, roaring
trains flashed long chains of lights. On the other hand, Eighth Avenue
buzzed resonantly in stifling clouds of incandescent dust. The air
smelt of warm asphalt....

And it was Spring: the tenth Spring P. Sybarite had watched from that
self-same spot.

Discontent bred in him a brooding despondency. He felt quite sure that
the realists were right about Life: it wasn't worth living, after all.

The prospect of the theatre lost its attraction. He was sure he
wouldn't enjoy it. Such silly romantical nonsense was out of tune with
the immortal Truth about Things, which he had just discovered: Life
was a poor Joke....

At his side, George Bross, on his behalf, was nursing his private and
personal grouch. Between them they manufactured an atmosphere of gloom
that would have done credit to a brace of dumb Socialists.

But presently Miss Prim and Miss Lessing appeared, and changed all
that in a twinkling.

VII

AFTERMATH

"Well," observed Violet generously, "I thought little me was pretty
well stage-broke; but I gotta hand it to Otis. He's _some_ actor. He
had me going from the first snore."

"Some actor is _right_," af