completing the vicious circle, and returning the millions acquired
by my political activities, in a poisoned shower upon the city, for
which, having bossed, bullied and looted it, I feel no sentiment
other than contempt."

"And now," remarked Waldemar in his heavy, rumbling voice, "you
aspire to disappoint that good old man."

"It's only human nature, you know," said Average Jones. "When a man
puts a ten-million-dollar curse on you and suggests that you haven't
the backbone of a shrimp, you--you--"

"--naturally yearn to prove him a liar," supplied Bertram.

"Exactly. Anyway, I've no taste for dissipation, either moral or
financial. I want action; something to do. I'm bored in this
infernal city."

"The wail of the unslaked romanticist," commented Bertram.

"Romanticist nothing!" protested the other. "My ambitions are
practical enough if I could only get 'em stirred up."

"Exactly. Boredom is simply romanticism with a morning-after
thirst. You're panting for romance, for something bizarre. Egypt
and St. Petersburg and Buenos Ayres and Samoa have all become
commonplace to you. You've overdone them. That's why you're back
here in New York waiting with stretched nerves for the Adventure of
Life to cat-creep up from behind and toss the lariat of rainbow
dreams over your shoulders."