"Good heavens!" He turned brusquely from the window, paced his room a few times, limping up and down it, the lame jackdaw, the crippled bird in his cage, and his heart swelled in his breast. No--he could not do it. The Pride that had led him here and forced him to make his way in spite of fate, the Pride that kept him here would not let him. He had ambitions then? He was not then dead to fame? Where were those dreams? Let them come to him and inspire him now. He recalled the choir-master of St. Angel's church. He could get a job to sing in St. Angel's if he pleased. He would run away to Albany. He had run away from New York; now he would run from Nut Street like a cad and save his Pride. He would leave the girl with the broken arm, the coffee-house door shut against her, to shift for herself, because he was a gentleman. Alongside the window he had hung up his coat and hat, and they recalled to him her things as they had hung there. There had been something dove-like and dear in her presence in his room of sickness. His Pride! He could hear his old Mammy say-- "Massa Tony, chile, you' pride's gwine to lead yo thru black waters some day, shore." He said "Come in" to the short, harsh rap at the door, and Sanders entered, slamming the door behind him. His face was hostile but not murderous; as usual his bowler was a-cock on his head. "See here, Fairfax, she sent me. She ain't hurt much, just a damned nasty bruise. I gave her my promise not to stick a knife into you." Fairfax pushed up his sleeves; his arms were white as snow. He had lost flesh. "I'll fight you right here, Sanders," he said, "and we'll not make a sound. I'm not as fit as you are, but I'll punish you less for that reason. Come on." Molly's lover put his hand in his pockets because he was afraid to leave them out. He shook his head. "I gave the girl my word, and I'd rather please Molly than break every bone in your ---- body, and that's saying a good deal. And here on my own hook I want to ask you a plain question." "I shan't answer it, Sandy." The other with singular patience returned, "All right. I'm going to ask just the same. Are you ... will you ... what the hell...!" he exclaimed. "Don't go on," said Fairfax; "shut up and go home." Instead, Sanders took off his hat, a sign of unusual excitement with him. He wiped his face and said huskily-- "Ain't got a chance in the world alongside you, Fairfax, and I'd go down and crawl for her. That's how _I'm_ about her, mate." His face broke up. Fairfax answered quietly, "That's all right, Sanders--that's all right." The engineer went on: "I want you to clear out and give me my show, Tony. I had one before you turned up in Nut Street." "Why, I can't do that, Sanders," said Fairfax gently; "you oughtn't to ask a man to do that. Don't you see how it will look to the girl?" The other man's face whitened; he couldn't believe his ears. "Why, you don't mean to say...?" he wondered slowly.