He felt weak and ill, and for the first time a thrill of fear shot through his heart. Toward evening he dined exiguously on a dish of milk and porridge, and remembered hazily a dispute with the waiter on the question of a tip. He went out into the streets. A slender curve of moon rode in a sky of ice, the air was bitter cold, a sharp wind eddied round the corners of the streets, and took him by the throat. He walked on and on, with the illusion of the city slipping past him like a river full of glittering reflections, himself treading upon air. Once he found himself shambling; it horrified him, for it was so that tramps and outcasts walked. A little later he found himself gazing on the bread-line; he stood an instant in fascinated pity, and fled. About midnight he found himself once more before the doors of the old Astor House, and felt that he could walk no farther. He gathered courage to enter, and blessed the undesigned humanitarianism of America, which makes an hotel lobby an open rendezvous. Here, at least, was light and warmth. A night clerk was at the desk--not he of the toothpick and the supercilious back. He made a shift to ask him if Bundy had arrived. "When do you expect him?" asked the clerk. "Hourly." "Where does he come from?" "The West--Oklahoma, I believe." "Then he'll get in at seven on the Pennsylvania, most likely." "Can I wait for him?" The clerk eyed him narrowly. "You used to stay here, didn't you?" "I was here for a fortnight." "I don't know but you can," he remarked ungraciously. "But say, you ought to take a room, you know." "I'd rather not till I know if Mr. Bundy comes." "Down on your luck?" "Down on my luck," said Arthur gravely. The clerk laughed. "Parlour A. might suit you. Don't let me see you, that's all." In Parlour A. he took refuge, and was soon asleep, his head bowed upon the table. He woke from time to time with a strong shudder. "Not that, O God--not that!" he moaned, for it was of the bread-line he had dreamed. He was still asleep when a sudden hand was laid upon his shoulder. He awoke, and looked into the face of Bundy. XV THE MILLIONAIRE He could hardly believe his good fortune. The mist of sleep and weakness was upon his eyes, hysteric laughter shook him. He rose, trembling. He saw the good-natured night-clerk in the doorway, heard him say, "I guess he's been up against it good and hard," and the next moment found himself sinking through an abyss of coloured lights into an unfathomable darkness. The descent lasted but for an instant; when he opened his eyes again it was to protest that there was nothing whatever the matter with him. "Been out on the bat," said the clerk laconically. "Been starving," said another voice.