“When I was a kid, once in a while I’d wake up in my bed all in a sweat. I don’t know . . . I can’t exactly name it. A sort of where-am-I feeling, and not a damn thing to grab hold of. God! for a minute, it makes you fair sick at your stomach. Well . . . that’s what I mean. Up there on the Avenue in my fancy bed—it was Louis the something or other’s bed, or one of those guys; I swear I have the same dream every once in a while, and wake up sweating just the same old way. So what have I got out of it all? Me, myself, inside, I’m just the same. I’ve got you; but I had you when I was a kid, and hadn’t nothing else. . . . “It’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. I don’t mean to be complaining. I’ve had a hell of a good time, and still do. I have everything a man could have. I travel light. I don’t worry about nothing. It’s wonderful what a lot of things I don’t worry about! They call me heartless. Well, —— them! A pack of coyotes. They used to yelp at me in their newspapers. Well, I bought their newspapers. I’m one of the most powerful men in New York they say. I suppose I am. But . . . somehow it don’t seem quite real . . . !” He dropped down, and put his hands around her thick throat. “Only this . . . ! By God! this is real . . . !” “I thought you was gonna tahk all night,” murmured Jewel sleepily. “Such foolishness . . . !” Joe chuckled. V Wilfred and Frances Mary were having tea at the Plaza. One of the children had been sick, and a temporary nurse had been had in for the others. The sick child was better, and this was the nurse’s last day. Hence the jaunt to town. After all, tea is not an expensive meal. They had come early in order to secure one of the coveted tables beside the tall East windows, and had made the meager provender last out. The great room was now full. Wilfred affected to despise this kind of a show; but what a bursting-forth it provided in Fanny’s restricted life. Her shabby coat was thrown back over the chair, revealing her in a pretty new dress she had had no opportunity to wear before. Her hat was becoming. Blue was Fanny’s color. A hint of pink warmed her dusky cheeks, and the tired eyes were beaming. For himself, Wilfred had succeeded in putting the unpaid bills out of mind. The child was better! It was a good moment; he swam in it. “Look at that extraordinary little fat man with the party of girls,” said Frances Mary. “He could play the Earl of Loam in Barrie’s comedy.” “But the Earl of Loam was a respectable husband and father,” said Wilfred. “I was just thinking of his legs. They must be the same thickness all the way down like chimney pots.” “I should say he’d do better as Silenus.” “Is it possible that a man so old can still enjoy that sort of thing?” she speculated, looking at the girls. “I don’t know. He has to make believe to. With a face like that he wouldn’t be accepted in any other part.” “Ah! what fun it is to watch people!” she murmured.