I broke through the line of bandy-legged cynics along the curb, and paused to look up the deserted awning. There is something chillsome always about one of these empty canvas passage-ways, with the half-light, the tawdry, muddied carpet under foot, the dark door away off above you, that seems a cavernous entrance to some wonderland. Fortunately for me one of the Rollers Club fellows came out and he stopped long enough to reassure me. Things were not so bad, he said. The real-estate men who had heard that Radigan was looking for half a block on Fifth Avenue were helping wonderfully, and the architects who understood that a million-dollar house was to be built on the half-block were supporting them splendidly. Fortunately, several of Radigan's smartest customers were on the bear side of the bull market, and their wives and daughters had come to meet dear Mrs. Radigan. Moreover, and best of all--the Rollers Club fellow winked--Willie Lite was within, which would cost Radigan the price of ten more cases of champagne, a small enough payment for so great an honor. So I passed on. Of course the man who announced me got my name wrong, and gave it an Irish twist that made Mrs. Radigan start visibly as he shouted it in her ear. She was vastly relieved to see me, and introduced me to Willie Lite, who was in close attendance and talked most volubly. They were discussing the "simple life," and I heard Mrs. Radigan say that "of the two, she preferred his 'Parsifal,'" which seemed to amuse Lite tremendously, though to me it sounded rather inane. Mrs. Radigan was an earnest believer in the simple life and regretted that she could not lead it. People did not realize the dreadful responsibilities that devolved on one who was born in our set. There was the endless round of calls, always boresome, and callers, often worse, and dinners and operas, and dances that we just had to go to. Sometimes she longed to get away from it all and go to some quiet place where she could study and store up riches in her own mind and do good to others. But there was Radigan; he simply could not live away from his clubs and his horses. He simply had to have excitement and terrapin, while she longed for repose and brown bread. The good woman heaved a sigh. I had never seen her in that mood before. But as I stood aside and surveyed her splendid massiveness, I forgave her, for I saw that, even did she so will it, she could not, like Diogenes, get into a tub. I fled lest I might forgetfully suggest this, and found rest with Miss Veal, in a simple white effect, very pretty, holding a large bunch of roses that I felt sure one of the Rollers Club fellows had sent her. She was talking sweetly about the weather to old Mr. Stuyvesant Mint, one of the bear customers. Mr. Mint, as I gathered from some five minutes' close attention, seemed convinced that it would rain before Sunday, and Miss Veal's views on the subject were summed up in a smile and an