He reached Goerwitz's at ten o'clock and promenaded slowly
through both rooms twice. Just as he was leaving he espied an
acquaintance who was looking fiercely away from him as if saying:
``I don't see you, and, damn you, don't you dare see me!'' But
Feuerstein advanced boldly. Twelve years of active membership in
that band of ``beats'' which patrols every highway and byway and
private way of civilization had thickened and toughened his skin
into a hide. ``Good evening, Albers,'' he said cordially, with a
wave of the soft, light hat. ``I see you have a vacant place in
your little circle. Thank you!'' He assumed that Albers had
invited him, took a chair from another table and seated himself.
Social courage is one of the rarest forms of courage. Albers
grew red but did not dare insult such a fine-looking fellow who
seemed so hearty and friendly. He surlily introduced Feuerstein
to his friends--two women and two men. Feuerstein ordered a
round of beer with the air of a prince and without the slightest
intention of paying for it.

The young woman of the party was seated next to him. Even before
he sat he recognized her as the daughter of Ganser, a rich brewer
of the upper East Side. He had placed himself deliberately
beside her, and he at once began advances. She showed at a
glance that she was a silly, vain girl. Her face was fat and
dull; she had thin, stringy hair. She was flabby and, in the
lazy life to which the Gansers' wealth and the silly customs of
prosperous people condemned her, was already beginning to expand
in the places where she could least afford it.

He made amorous eyes at her. He laughed enthusiastically at her