Union Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves
happy with a good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the
trees above as thrown by the electric light on the pavement.

"Wonderful effect!" remarked my friends. "How did you enjoy your
dinner? That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it
without the 'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must
come in for that sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I
should think it would just suit you. Put them--the three of them--
Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot--into a book, or better
still, on the stage. There's your title ready for you too."

I was just thinking of the same thing.

"They are undoubtedly originals, both of them--all three," said I,
"but as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon."

"What do you mean by 'enough'?"

"I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and
moral condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is
jealousy, and at the same time the use of chloral. That would have
to be understood more clearly. Then, one would like something to--"

"Go on," said my friend. "To--"

"Happen," said I, lighting a second cigar.

Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them
stumbled over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again.