him. He had built up a wall between himself and the rest of the world, and
he would not scale it. But he held no grudge against it. Let others get
what they could out of living.

Sidney, suddenly practical, broke in on his thoughts:--

"Where are you going to get your meals?"

"I hadn't thought about it. I can stop in somewhere on my way downtown. I
work in the gas office--I don't believe I told you. It's rather
haphazard--not the gas office, but the eating. However, it's convenient."

"It's very bad for you," said Sidney, with decision. "It leads to slovenly
habits, such as going without when you're in a hurry, and that sort of
thing. The only thing is to have some one expecting you at a certain
time."

"It sounds like marriage." He was lazily amused.

"It sounds like Mrs. McKee's boarding-house at the corner. Twenty-one meals
for five dollars, and a ticket to punch. Tillie, the dining-room girl,
punches for every meal you get. If you miss any meals, your ticket is good
until it is punched. But Mrs. McKee doesn't like it if you miss."

"Mrs. McKee for me," said Le Moyne. "I daresay, if I know that--
er--Tillie is waiting with the punch, I'll be fairly regular to my meals."

It was growing late. The Street, which mistrusted night air, even on a hot
summer evening, was closing its windows. Reginald, having eaten his fill,
had cuddled in the warm hollow of Sidney's lap, and slept. By shifting his