She was drawn through the brazen doors away from Mark. The men pushed after her avidly. She went tottering to the great motor, was engulfed. Mark blinked in the waning smell of gardenias, waited for the motor to be gone and walked into the street. He saw rain falling. There was no taxicab in sight along the street. From the west an orange palpitation flooded this darker way. Steam from a clamorous drill blew north about the white tower of the Times building. Wet cabs jerked north and south along the gleam of rails. The higher lights were gone. The rain dropped from an upper purple and rapped the crown of his hat as Mark strolled to the corner. Some one began to talk to him before he reached Broadway. Mark glanced at this beggar carelessly and paused to dig in a pocket for change. The shivering voice continued. “... ain’t like I’d come bothering you before. I ain’t that kind. But you’ve got comp’nies on the road and honest, Walling, I’m as good as ever I was. You’ve mebbe heard that I’m taking dope. Not so. Some of that bunch at Bill Loeffler’s office have been puttin’ that out. Honest--” Three white capped young sailors blundered past, all laughing, and jarred the shadowy body away from Mark. The man came shuffling back and clung to Mark’s sleeve, his face lavender in the rainy light above a shapeless overcoat. He whispered on, “Honest, some of the things that bunch at Loeffler’s place say about you and Carlson! But I ain’t takin’ nothing, Walling. Had a run of bad luck. I’m on the rocks. But you’ve seen me run a show. You know I can handle a comp’ny--” “The light’s so bad,” said Mark, “and your collar--I’m not just sure who--” The man gave a whimpering laugh. “Oh, I thought you was actin’ kind of chilly to an old pal. I’m Jim Rothenstein. You know? I was stage manager for Carlson back when you was playin’ the kid in Nicoline. You know. I gave you your job. Cora Boyle she brought you in to me and asked if there wasn’t a little part--Honest, I ain’t takin’ dope. That bunch--” Mark gulped, “Of course you’re not.” Some harsh drug escaped from the man’s rags. This was nightmare. Mark found a bill and held it out, backing from the shadow. “Come round to my office some day and I’ll see what--” A hansom rolled to the curb and the driver raised his whip. Mark ran to shelter, crying his address. The grey horse moved toward Broadway. Mark shoved up the trap and shouted to the driver, “No! Go up Fifth Avenue!” IV Penalties