"Say," said the unshaven man, "what's all that about the devil falling
out of heaven and fetching up in hell?"

"Why?"

"That's how she says I looks. And she wants to make a statue of him,
just when he comes to and sits up, and looks up and sees how far he's
fell. She says my face has all the sorrers and horrors of the world
in it."

"And then, you fool," said the legless man, "you spoiled her game by
high living. You ate and you drank till you looked like a paranoiac
bulldog asleep in the sun. Where was the lady's studio?"

"Seventeen McBurney Place."

"And she wants to do a Satan, does she?"

The unshaven man drew back from the expression of the legless man, in
whose face it was as if all the fires of hell had suddenly burst into
flame. The unshaven man covered the breast of his threadbare coat with
outstretched hands as if to shield himself from some suddenly bared
weapon. His eyes blinked, but did not falter.

"Say," he said presently, after drawing a deep breath, "if she could see
you once."

"If I don't know," said the legless man, "how Satan felt after the fall,
nobody does. The things I've been--the things I've seen--back
there--down here--the things I've lost--the things I've found! Hell's