hall, one hand upstretched to shut off the gas overhead, and his eyes on
hers above.

"Good-night," said K. Le Moyne. And all the things he had put out of his
life were in his voice.




CHAPTER IV


On the morning after Sidney had invited K. Le Moyne to take her to walk,
Max Wilson came down to breakfast rather late. Dr. Ed had breakfasted an
hour before, and had already attended, with much profanity on the part of
the patient, to a boil on the back of Mr. Rosenfeld's neck.

"Better change your laundry," cheerfully advised Dr. Ed, cutting a strip of
adhesive plaster. "Your neck's irritated from your white collars."

Rosenfeld eyed him suspiciously, but, possessing a sense of humor also, he
grinned.

"It ain't my everyday things that bother me," he replied. "It's my
blankety-blank dress suit. But if a man wants to be tony--"

"Tony" was not of the Street, but of its environs. Harriet was "tony"
because she walked with her elbows in and her head up. Dr. Max was "tony"
because he breakfasted late, and had a man come once a week and take away
his clothes to be pressed. He was "tony," too, because he had brought back