the movement. Drunkenly he mused upon a wild
inspiration to bring Ram-tah out and give him a ride in this big red
car. It appealed to him much. Ram-tah would almost open his eyes at the
novelty of that progress. But he felt that this was no safe thing to do.
He would be arrested. The whole secret might come out.

He had retained no sense of direction, but he was presently conscious of
the river close at his side, and then the car, with warning blasts,
curved up to a much lighted building and halted. A large man in uniform
came solicitously to help him descend and gave him a fragment of
cardboard which he knew would redeem his motor.

He was seated at a table looking down upon the shining river.

"Tea and things," he said to the waiter.

"Yes, sir; black or green, sir?"

"Bottle ginger ale!" How did he know whether he wanted black or green
tea. No time to be fussy.

He began a lordly survey of the people at neighbouring tables--people
who had doubtless walked there, or come in hired cabs, at the best.
Hired cabs had yesterday seemed impressive to him; now they were rather
vulgar. Of course, there might be circumstances--

He froze like a pointing dog. At a table not twenty feet distant,
actually in the flesh, sat the Greatest Pitcher the World Has Ever
Known. For a moment he could only stare fixedly. The man was simply
_there_! He was talking volubly to two other men, and he was also eating
a mere raspberry ice!

It showed how things "worked around," once you got started. Hadn't his
whole life been a proof of this? How many times had he wished he might
happen upon that Pitcher just as he was now, in street clothes--to look
at him, study him! He wished _he_ had ordered raspberry ice instead of
ginger ale, which he didn't like. He would order one anyway.

It was all Ram-tah. If you knew you were a king, you needn't ever worry
again. You sat still and let things come to you. After all, a king was
greater than a pitcher, if you came down to it--in some ways, certainly.

He stared until the group left the table. He could actually have touched
the Pitcher as he passed. Would wonders never cease?

Two men in uniform helped him into the big red car again, tenderly, as
if he were fragile. He had meant to return to the garage, but now he saw
the more dignified way was to stop at his own house. Further, Paul
should take him to the office in the morning and call for him at
four-thirty again. He wouldn't be afraid to rid