My wife is young, yes she is young and pretty when she cares to be--when she is interested in a discussion: it is the little dancing mayor's wife telling her of the Day nursery in East Rutherford, 'cross the track, divided from us by the railroad--and disputes as to precedence. It is in this town the saloon flourishes, the saloon of my friend on the right whose wife has twice offended with chance words. Her English is atrocious! It is in this town that the saloon is situated, close to the railroad track, close as may be, this side being dry, dry, dry: two people listening on opposite sides of a wall!--The Day Nursery had sixty-five babies the week before last, so my wife's eyes shine and her cheeks are pink and I cannot see a blemish. Ice-cream in the shape of flowers and domestic objects: a pipe for me since I do not smoke, a doll for you. The figure of some great bulk of a woman disappearing into the kitchen with a quick look over the shoulder. My friend on the left who has spent the whole day in a car the like of which some old fellow would give to an actress: flower-holders, mirrors, curtains, plush seats--my friend on the left who is chairman of the Streets committee of the town council--and who has spent the whole day studying automobile fire-engines in neighbouring towns in view of purchase,--my friend, at the Elks last week at the breaking-up hymn, signalled for them to let Bill--a familiar friend of the saloon-keeper--sing out all alone to the organ--and he did sing! Salz-rolls, exquisite! and Rhine wine _ad libitum_. A masterly caviare sandwich. The children flitting about above stairs. The councilman has just bought a National eight--some car! For heaven's sake I mustn't forget the halves of green peppers stuffed with cream cheese and whole walnuts! THURSDAY I have had my dream--like others-- and it has come to nothing, so that I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky-- feeling my clothes about me, the weight of my body in my shoes, the rim of my hat, air passing in and out at my nose--and decide to dream no more. THE DARK DAY A three-day-long rain from the east-- an interminable talking, talking of no consequence--patter, patter, patter. Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant. Warm. Distance cut off. Seclusion. A few passers-by, drawn in upon themselves, hurry from one place to another. Winds of the white poppy! there is no escape!-- An interminable talking, talking, talking ... it has happened before. Backward, backward, backward. TIME THE HANGMAN