mackintosh, move clear of the nook which had sheltered
him, and step out into the open.

For an instant he glanced about him, seemed to
hesitate, as does a bit of driftwood blocked in the
current; then, with a sudden straightening of his
shoulders, he wheeled and threaded his way down-town.

At Herald Square, he mounted with an aimless air
a flight of low steps, peered though the windows, and
listened to the crunch of the presses chewing the cud
of the day's news. When others crowded close he
stepped back to the sidewalk, raising his hat once in
apology to an elderly dame who, with head down, had
brushed him with her umbrella.

By the time he reached 30th Street his steps had become
slower. Again he hesitated, and again with an
aimless air turned to the left, the rain still pelting his
broad shoulders, his hat pulled closer to protect his
face. No lights or color pursued him here. The fronts
of the houses were shrouded in gloom; only a hall
lantern now and then and the flare of the lamps at
the crossings, he alone and buffeting the storm--all
others behind closed doors. When Fourth Avenue
was reached he lifted his head for the first time. A
lighted window had attracted his attention--a wide,
corner window filled with battered furniture, ill-
assorted china, and dented brass--one of those popular
morgues that house the remains of decayed respectability.