He also had every variety of time on his hands--leisure to walk to the window and walk back again, and then walk all around the room--leisure to go out and solicit business in a city where already business was on the edge of chaos and still sliding--leisure to sit for hours in his chair and reflect upon anything he chose--leisure to be hungry and satisfy the inclination with philosophy. He was perfectly at liberty to choose any subject and think about it. But he spent most of his time in trying to prevent himself from thinking. However, from his window, the street views now were usually interesting; he was an unconvinced spectator of the mob which started for the _Daily News_ office, hissing, cat-calling, yelling: "Show your colours!" "Run up your colours!" He saw the mob visit the _Journal of Commerce_, and then turn on the _Herald_, yelling insult and bellowing threats which promptly inspired that journal to execute a political flip-flap that set the entire city smiling. Stephen, who had conceived a younger man's furtive admiration for Berkley and his rumoured misdemeanours, often came into his room when opportunity offered. That morning he chanced in for a moment and found Berkley at the window chewing the end of a pencil, perhaps in lieu of the cigar he could no longer afford. "These are spectacular times," observed the latter, with a gesture toward the street below. "Observe yonder ladylike warrior in brand-new regimentals. Apparently, Stephen, he's a votary of Mars and pants for carnage; but in reality he continues to remain the sartorial artist whose pants are more politely emitted. He emitted these--" patting his trousers with a ruler. "On what goose has this my tailor fed that he hath grown so sightly!" They stood watching the crowds, once brightened only by the red shirts of firemen or the blue and brass of a policeman, but now varied with weird uniforms, or parts of uniforms, constructed on every known and unknown pattern, military and unmilitary, foreign and domestic. The immortal army at Coventry was not more variegated. "There's a new poster across the street," said Stephen. He indicated a big advertisement decorated with a flying eagle. DOWN WITH SECESSION! The Government Appeals to the New York Fire Department for One Regiment of Zouaves! Companies will select their own officers. The roll is at Engine House 138, West Broadway. ELSWORTH, COL: ZOUAVES. "That's a good, regiment to enlist in, isn't it?" said the boy restlessly. "Cavalry for me," replied Berkley, unsmiling; "they can run faster." "I'm serious," said Stephen. "If I had a chance--" He turned on Berkley: "Why don't you, enlist? There's nothing to stop you, is there?" "Nothing except constitutional timidity." "Then why don't you?" Berkley laughed. "Well, for one thing, I'm not sure how I'd behave in battle. I might be intelligent enough to run; I might be ass enough to fight. The enemy would have to take its chances."