and "stale-beer shops;" and, across the square to the north,
representatives of New York's oldest and most noted families. To the west
were apartment houses whence stiff, prim bookkeepers, floor-walkers, clerks
and small shop-keepers issued with their families on Sundays, bound for
church. There were other apartment houses--the most of them to the
south--whence in the midnight hours came slattern servants and reckless
looking girls in loose wrappers and high-heeled slippers, pitcher in hand,
bound for the nearest saloon.

After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting
sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and south
and the rumble of carriages in "the Avenue" to the north. Howard, reading
or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young men and young
women laughing and shouting and making love under the trees where the
Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came the songs--"I want
you, my honey, yes I do," or "Lu, Lu, how I love my Lu!", or some other of
the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures could be seen flitting about
in the shadows. Usually these figures were in pairs; usually one was in
white; usually at her waist-line there was a black belt that continued on
until it was lost in the other and darker figure.

Scraps of a score of languages--curses, jests, terms of endearment--would
float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative silence, with the city
breathing softly and regularly, with the moon hanging low and the pale arch
rising above the dark trees like a giant ghost. There would be an
occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous roar of song from some
staggering reveller making company for himself on the journey home; the
heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only sound to disturb the
city's sleep would be that soft tread, timid as a mouse's, stealthy as a
jackal's--the tread of a lonely woman with draggled silk skirt and painted