Father Algarcife looked at him with intentness. "What! has not the world served you well?" he asked. Ardly laughed. "As well as a flute serves a man who doesn't know how to play it," he answered. "I am a master of discords." "And so journalism didn't fit you?" "Oh, journalism led to this. I did the chief a good turn or two, and he doesn't forget." "I see," said Father Algarcife. Then he laughed. "And here is the other side," he added. Across the street before them hung a flaunting banner of white bunting, ornamented in red letters. Half mechanically his eyes followed the words: _SAMUEL J. SLOANE SAYS,_ _If I am elected Mayor, the government of New York will be conducted upon the highest plane of_ _EFFICIENCY! JUSTICE! AND RIGHT!_ The wind caught the bunting and it swelled out as if inflated by the pledges it bore. Ardly laughed cynically. "I wish he'd drop a few hints to Providence," he remarked. "It is certainly a plane upon which the universe has never been conducted." Father Algarcife walked on in silence, making his way along the crowded street with a slow yet determined step. The people who knew him turned to look after him, and those who did not stepped from before his way, moved by the virile dignity in his carriage, which suggested a man possessed by an absorbing motive. Ardly looked a little abashed, and laughed half apologetically. "I have been in harness all my life," he said, "and now I'm doing a little kicking against the traces." A boyish humor rushed to the other's lips. "In that case, I can make but one recommendation," he replied: "if you kick against the traces--kick hard." He drew out his watch and paused a moment as if in doubt. "Yes, I'll go to the hospital," he said; "there is a half-hour before luncheon," and he turned into East Twentieth Street on his way to Second Avenue. When he reached the hospital, he entered the elevator upon the first floor and ascended to the babies' ward. As he stepped upon the landing, a calm-faced nurse in a fresh uniform passed him, holding a glass of milk in her white, capable hand. His eyes brightened as he saw her, and under the serene system of the place he felt a sense of restfulness steal over him like warmth. "How is my charge?" he asked. A ripple of tenderness crossed the nurse's lips as she answered: "He has been looking for you, and he is always better on the days that you come." She passed along the hall and entered a large room into which the daylight fell like a bath of sunshine. In the centre of the room there was a tiny table around which a dozen children were sitting in small white chairs. Despite the bandaged heads and the weak limbs, there was no sign of suffering. It was all cheerfulness and sunshine, as if the transition from a tenement-house room to space and air had unfolded the shrunken little bodies into bloom.