It was time to settle down and begin work. He had an uncle who
was head of an important business far down-town; but Gissing,
with the quixotry of youth, was determined to make his own start
in the great world of commerce. He found a room on the top floor
of a quiet brownstone house in the West Seventies. It was not
large, and he had to go down a flight for his bath; the gas
burner over the bed whistled; the dust was rather startling after
the clean country; but it was cheap, and his sense of adventure
more than compensated. Mrs. Purp, the landlady, pleased him
greatly. She was very maternal, and urged him not to bolt his
meals in armchair lunches. She put an ashtray in his room.

Gissing sent Mrs. Spaniel a postcard with a picture of the
Pennsylvania Station. On it he wrote Arrived safely. Hard at
work. Love to the children. Then he went to look for a job.

His ideas about business were very vague. All he knew was that he
wished to be very wealthy and influential as soon as possible. He
could have had much sound advice from his uncle, who was a member
of the Union Kennel and quite a prominent dog-about-town. But
Gissing had the secretive pride of inexperience. Moreover, he did
not quite know what to say about his establishment in the
country. That houseful of children would need some explaining.

Those were days of brilliant heat; clear, golden, dry. The
society columns in the papers assured him that everyone was out
of town; but the Avenue seemed plentifully crowded with
beautiful, superb creatures. Far down the gentle slopes of that
glimmering roadway he could see the rolling stream of limousines,