the way she looked at one, firm and frank. In imagination he dared to
think of her lips on his, and so vividly did he imagine that he went
dizzy at the thought and seemed to rift through clouds of rose-petals,
filling his brain with their perfume.

In the kitchen he found Jim, the other boarder, eating mush very
languidly, with a sick, far-away look in his eyes. Jim was a plumber's
apprentice whose weak chin and hedonistic temperament, coupled with a
certain nervous stupidity, promised to take him nowhere in the race for
bread and butter.

"Why don't you eat?" he demanded, as Martin dipped dolefully into the
cold, half-cooked oatmeal mush. "Was you drunk again last night?"

Martin shook his head. He was oppressed by the utter squalidness of it
all. Ruth Morse seemed farther removed than ever.

"I was," Jim went on with a boastful, nervous giggle. "I was loaded
right to the neck. Oh, she was a daisy. Billy brought me home."

Martin nodded that he heard,--it was a habit of nature with him to pay
heed to whoever talked to him,--and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee.

"Goin' to the Lotus Club dance to-night?" Jim demanded. "They're goin'
to have beer, an' if that Temescal bunch comes, there'll be a
rough-house. I don't care, though. I'm takin' my lady friend just the
same. Cripes, but I've got a taste in my mouth!"

He made a wry face and attempted to wash the taste away with coffee.