their patrons, and beautifully dressed women in fine furs, accompanied
by escorts in evening dress, stood on the pavements. Taxicabs whirled
through the slush.

I began to feel a renewal in me of the old, old thrill the city had
inspired when I entered it a younger and a more hopeful man.

The dog turned down a street in the Twenties, ran on a few yards,
bounded up a flight of stone steps, and began scratching at the door of
a house that was apparently empty.

I say apparently, because the shades were down at every window and the
interior was unlit, so far as could be seen from the street; but I knew
that at that hour it must contain from fifty to a hundred people.

This place I knew by reputation. It was Jim Daly's notorious but
decently conducted gambling establishment, which was running full blast
at a time when every other institution of this character had found it
convenient to shut down.

So the creature's master was inside Daly's, and it wished me to get him
out. This was evidence of unusual discernment in his best friend, but
it was hardly my prerogative to exercise moral supervision over this
adventurous explorer of a chillier country even than his northern
wastes. I looked in some disappointment at the closed doors and turned
away.

I meant to go home, and I had proceeded about three paces when the lock
clicked. I stopped. The front door opened cautiously, and the gray
head of Jim's negro butler appeared. Behind it was the famous grille