The moving was the occasion of the second party. It was more restrained than the first owing to a certain shortage of supplies, still . . . ! At midnight between two showers they had issued out to conduct the hegira. Returning, what a circus! A treat for the occasional passer-by. Hilgy first with rolls and rolls of tracing paper under one arm; and in the other hand the front end of Jasper’s trunk. Jasper next with the hinder end of the trunk in one hand; and in the other the front end of a folding cot. Binks had the stern end of the cot in one hand; and an end of a drawing-table in the other; Wilfred the other end of the drawing-table and one handle of a Gladstone bag; Stanny the remaining handle of the bag, and more rolls of drawings and tracings. Fred brought up the rear, walking alone, with a suit-case in each hand, and more rolls caught under his arms. Thus they made their way up the midnight Avenue, like one of those wooden-jointed snakes that were sold on Fourteenth street. Whenever anybody stopped to stare at them, the grave Hilgy capered like a goat. In the middle of the street, Jasper’s suit-case (carried by Fred) burst with a loud report, flinging soiled under-clothing, broken shoes and lead pencils far and wide. Fred, dropping the suit-case, fled up the street, and made out he wasn’t with them. The others as well as they could for laughing, gathered up the debris. Hilgy held up a torn union suit in an attitude of pensive regard. Oh, Gee! At the Fourteenth street corner a suspicious cop had stopped Hilgy with a question. This was nuts to Hilgy. Putting down his end of the trunk, he walked down the line, introducing each fellow by name to the officer with a childlike air. . . . Wilfred lost in the scene he was picturing, snickered aloud. A low voice at his ear recalled him to his surroundings; the bed; Stanny’s room; Stanny himself alongside. “Aren’t you asleep, Wilf?” “No. I thought you were.” “Hell! I can’t sleep.” Stanny slipped his arm through Wilfred’s. It was the first time since Wilfred could remember, that anybody had made such an overture in his direction; he caught his breath and felt quite silly and confused. He pressed Stanny’s arm hard against his ribs, and neither said anything. Finally Stanny asked: “What were you laughing at?” “At Hilgy and the cop,” said Wilfred. “I’ve been going over it in my mind . . . trying to find words.” “Oh, for God’s sake!” said Stanny, “when you start dramatizing a thing you spoil it!” “I know,” said Wilfred eagerly, “I know just the point when analysing things becomes barren. I stop short of that now. It’s all right to think about things when you can keep yourself detached from them.” “But you never can!” “Oh yes, I can, now,” said Wilfred confidently. Suddenly his confidence ran out of him. “Well, sometimes I can,” he amended. Stanny chuckled derisively. “I know, I’m foolish . . . But you like me . . . ?” Stanny squeezed his arm.