wrecks at sea, naval battles, and a race horse or two.

The landlord himself lifted Fitzgerald's bag to the counter.

"A room for the night and supper, right away."

"Here, Jimmy," called the landlord to a growing, lumbering boy, "take
this satchel up to number five."

The boy went his way, eying the labels respectfully and with some awe.
This was the third of its kind he had ported up-stairs in the past
twenty-four hours.

Fitzgerald cast an idle glance at the loungers. There were half a
dozen of them, some of them playing cards and some displaying talent on
a pool table, badly worn and beer-stained. There was nothing
distinctive about any of them, excepting the little man who was reading
an evening paper, and the only distinctive thing about him was a pair
of bright eyes. Behind their gold-rimmed spectacles they did not waver
under Fitzgerald's scrutiny; so the latter dismissed the room and its
company from his mind and proceeded into dinner. As he was late, he
dined alone on mildly warm chicken, greasy potatoes, and muddy coffee.
He was used often to worse fare than this, and no complaint was even
though of. After he had changed his linen he took the road to the
house at the top of the hill. Now, then, what sort of an affair was
this going to be, such as would bend a girl of her bearing to speak to
him on the street? Moreover, at a moment when he was playing a
grown-up child's game? She had known that he was prevaricating when he
had stated that he represented a charitable organization; and he knew
that she knew he knew it. What, then? It could not be a joke; women