At the approaching corner there was a saloon; and its side door, the “Family Entrance,” protected by the usual fancy porch of wood and glass, lay in Wilfred’s path. A discreet radiance came through the frosted glass. In the corner formed by this porch with the main building Wilfred beheld a group of six or eight boys standing with their shoulders pressed together in a circle, heads lowered. Their stillness, their uneasy looks over their shoulders, conveyed an intimation. He paused, all aghast inside as if he had been surprised by a wound. His spirit came diving down like a broken-winged bird. Little scorching flames were lighted in the pit of his stomach, and he tasted the bitterness of wormwood. He walked on, trying to look unconscious. One of the boys was his own age, the others varying sizes smaller. As he came by, the big boy cast a wary look over his shoulder. Seeing Wilfred’s stricken face, the boy instantly knew how it was with him, and Wilfred knew that he knew. He felt as if he must die with shame. The boy’s face broke up in a horrid triumphant leer. Wilfred was never to forget any detail of the look of that boy. He wore ribbed cotton stockings faded to a greenish hue, and button shoes much too big for him with fancy cloth tops and run-over heels; around his neck was wound a white cotton cloth, hideously soiled, suggesting that he had had a sore throat weeks before. His face—close-set sharp black eyes; longish nose; lips suggesting the beak of a predatory bird; was all lighted up by that all-knowing, zestful leer. A wicked, dirty, comely face; it was the zest expressed there that dishonored Wilfred. Without turning around, the boy with a slight derisive cock of his head conveyed an invitation to Wilfred to join the circle. Wilfred, gasping, hastened by with lowered head, a hot tide pouring up and scorching his cheeks and forehead. The boy’s mocking laughter pursued him. “Hey, wait a minute, Kid!” Wilfred darted around the corner. He made his way home with head down, averting his sight from the sordid streets, and the disgusting beings that frequented them. He knew of course that the change was in himself. He had lost his talisman in the mud. He felt sodden. What’s the use? he asked himself in the last bitterness of spirit; I can’t climb a little way out of the muck, but my foul nature drags me back again. I am the same as that rotten boy. He saw it. . . . Oh God! if I could only forget the look of that boy! II