never rise to such extravagant heights. Pirates and treasures; he
wouldn't have been surprised at all had Old Long John Silver hobbled
out from behind any one of those vine-grown fences, and demanded his
purse.

The street was dim, and more than once he stumbled over a loose board
in the wooden walk. If the admiral had been the right kind of
philanthropist he would have furnished stone. But then, it was one
thing to give a country town something and another to force the town
council into accepting it. The lamp-posts, also of wood, stood
irregularly apart, often less than a hundred feet, and sometimes more,
lighting nothing but their immediate vicinity. Fitzgerald could see
the lamps, plainly, but could separate none of the objects round or
beneath. That is why he did not see the face of the man who passed him
in a hurry. He never forgot a face, if it were a man's; his only
difficulty was in placing it at once. Up to this time one woman
resembled another; feminine faces made no particular impression on his
memory. He would have remembered the face of the man who had just
passed, for the very fact that he had thought of it often. The man had
come into the dim radiance of the far light, then had melted into the
blackness of the night again, leaving as a sign of his presence the
creak of his shoes and the aroma of a cigarette.

Fitzgerald tramped on cheerfully. It was not an unpleasant climb, only
dark. The millionaire's home seemed to grow up out of a fine park.
There was a great iron fence inclosing the grounds, and the lights on
top of the gates set the dull red trunks of the pines a-glowing. There
were no lights shining in the windows of the pretty lodge. Still, the
pedestrians' gate was ajar. He passed in, fully expecting to be
greeted by the growl of a dog. Instead, he heard mysterious footsteps