dinner-table. But I suppose you know. I was only regretting that
she hadn't seen you the way you're looking now. That's all. I
suppose I may regret, without hurting your feelings!"

He dropped all mention of Elsa after that, for a long time. But
I saw him looking at me, at intervals, during the evening, and
sighing. He was still regretting!

We enjoyed the theater, after all, with the pent-up enthusiasm of
long months of work and strain. We laughed at the puerile fun,
encored the prettiest of the girls, and swaggered in the lobby
between acts, with cigarettes. There we ran across the one man I
knew in Philadelphia, and had supper after the play with three or
four fellows who, on hearing my story, persisted in believing that
I had sailed on the Ella as a lark or to follow a girl. My simple
statement that I had done it out of necessity met with roars of
laughter and finally I let it go at that.

It was after one when we got back to the lodging-house, being
escorted there in a racing car by a riotous crowd that stood
outside the door, as I fumbled for my key, and screeched in unison:
"Leslie! Leslie! Leslie! Sic 'em!" before they drove away.

The light in the dingy lodging-house parlor was burning full, but
the hall was dark. I stopped inside and lighted a cigarette.

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, Mac!" I said. "I've
got the first two, and the other can be had--for the pursuit."

Mac did not reply: he was staring into the parlor. Elsa Lee was