moving in opposite directions, each making toward a similar goal, only
in a million different ways, that absorbed him. Subconsciously he was
always counting, counting, now by fives, now by tens, but invariably
found new entertainment ere he reached the respectable three numerals
of an even hundred. Sometimes it was a silk hat which he followed till
it became lost up the Avenue; and as often as not he would single out a
waiting cabman and speculate on the quality of his fare; and other
whimsies.

That this was such and such a woman, or that was such and such a man
never led him into any of that gossip so common among club-men who are
out of touch with the vital things in life. Even when he espied a
friend in this mysterious flow of souls, there was only a transient
flash of recognition in his eyes. When he wasn't in the tennis-courts,
or the billiard- or card-rooms, he was generally to be found in this
corner. He had seen all manner of crowds, armies pursuing and
retreating, vast concords in public squares, at coronations, at
catastrophes, at play, and he never lost interest in watching them;
they were the great expressions of humanity. This is perhaps the
reason why his articles were always so rich in color. No two crowds
were ever alike to him, consequently he never was at loss for a fresh
description.

To-day the Italian vender of plaster statuettes caught his eye. For an
hour now the poor wretch hadn't even drawn the attention of one of the
thousands passing. Fitzgerald felt sorry for him, and once the desire
came to go over and buy out the Neapolitan; but he was too comfortable
where he was, and beyond that he was expecting a friend.

Fitzgerald was thirty, with a clean-shaven, lean, and eager face,