ge something diluted his mood; he
halted, leaning against the railing, to consider the splendour of the
scene. The hour was late--moving on toward midnight--but in the tall
black precipices of Manhattan scattered lights gleamed, in an odd,
irregular pattern like the sparse punctures on the raffle-board--"take
a chance on a Milk-Fed Turkey"--the East Indian elevator-boy presents
to apartment-house tenants about Hallowe'en. A fume of golden light
eddied over uptown merriment: he could see the ruby beacon on the
Metropolitan Tower signal three quarters. Underneath the airy decking
of the bridge a tug went puffing by, her port and starboard lamps
trailing red and green threads over the tideway. Some great argosy of
the Staten Island fleet swept serenely down to St. George, past Liberty
in her soft robe of light, carrying theatred commuters, dazed with
weariness and blinking at the raw fury of the electric bulbs. Overhead
the night was a superb arch of clear frost, sifted with stars. Blue
sparks crackled stickily along the trolley wires as the cars groaned
over the bridge.

Aubrey surveyed all this splendid scene without exact observation. He
was of a philosophic turn, and was attempting to console his
discomfiture in the overwhelming lustre of Miss Titania by the thought
that she was, after all, the creature and offspring of the science he
worshipped--that of Advertising. Was not the fragrance of her
presence, the soft compulsion of her gaze, even the delirious frill of
muslin at her wrist, to be set down to the credit of his chosen art?
Had he not, pondering obscurely upon "attention-compelling" copy and
lay-out and type-face, in a corner of the Grey-Matter office,
contributed to the triumphant prosperity and grace of this unconscious
beneficiary? Indeed she seemed to him, fiercely tormenting himself
with her loveliness, a symbol of the mysterious and subtle power of
publicity. It was Advertising that had done this--that had enabled Mr.
Chapman, a shy and droll little person, to surround this girl with all
the fructifying glories of civilization--to foster and cherish her
until she shone upon the earth like a morning star! Advertising had
clothed her, Advertising had fed her, schooled, roofed, and sheltered
her. In a sense she was the crowning advertisement of her father's
career, and her innocent perfection taunted him just as much as the
bright sky-sign he knew was flashing the words CHAPMAN PRUNES above the