Varney traversed the clothes-hung backyard, came out into the dingy alley, and made rapidly for the cross-street, where a string of carriages showed that "the quality" of Hunston was not without interest in the day's proceedings. He did not see the carriages; to himself he seemed suddenly to walk in a great and silent solitude. There was noise enough about him, in all conscience, for every sentence that fell from Hare's lips was punctuated by a salvo; but the tumult beat itself to stillness against the closed fastness of his mind. Under his eye, half way down the block to which he drew near, rose the weatherworn flank of the Palace Hotel. Somewhere within the ugly pile was his mortal enemy Higginson, trapped to his reckoning at last. Within five minutes they two would stand face to face; and he had long since promised himself that Higginson would remember the meeting for as long as he lived. A moment ago, the thought had filled him with a strange exhilaration: the prospect of a final accounting with the intriguing fly-by-night who had wronged him past all forgiveness had set his blood to leaping. But, exactly because that wrong went so deep, his pleasurable excitement ebbed faster than it had mounted. The wound that he had had from Higginson was one that no vengeance would heal. And with the recurrence of this knowledge his battle-joy flickered and went out like a spent match, and the little alley was a war-list no longer but a stretch without end of dry and dusty years.... "I was lookin' for yer, Mist' Varney," said a husky, abashed voice. Varney stared down at the small apparition before him with momentary unrecognition. "Why--Tommy! Heaven bless us! Where did you spring from, boy?" Tommy's eyes fell in awe, but sure enough, he was sticking out his small flipper in salutation. In fact, he had shaken hands a number of times since that first memorable occasion, and, in his way, was gradually beginning to catch the spirit of the thing. "Kem up on the two-forty-five. Wit' Hauser's band. Got a loan of t'ree bucks off a frien'." "The mischief you did! Where do you find friends like that nowadays? But what on earth made you pop back here? To hear Hauser's play and see all the fireworks?" Tommy examined his toe with affected interest and shook his head. "What then? Don't you like it in New York?" "Yasser. Noo York's all right, it is." And reluctantly he added: "You be'n sick, ain't you? Thought I'd come and see how you was makin' it. Come afore now, on'y I couldn't get next to de price." "Tommy," said Varney, snuggling the boy's left hand into his own right and resuming the promenade, "you're a mighty good friend to me." They emerged into the street where a double line of vehicles, some of them gay with bright hats and parasols, flanked the curb on either side, and Varney turned north, his back to the square, unconscious of the many curious glances that were flung at him as he passed.