A comb. A neck-tie. A tooth-brush. A safety razor. A little can of tooth-powder. A shaving brush and a cake of soap. A cap. A pair of much abbreviated swimming trunks. All of which he placed in his new suit-case. Then after a moment of frowning consideration, he purchased two thick woolen double-blankets which he rolled up and strapped. After which he boldly strode into the Waldorf-Astoria. Such affluence, by this time, did his person emanate that four brass-buttoned boys simultaneously sprang to their feet and came running up to him. He waved them aside with a commanding gesture and went into the writing-room. He opened his check-book. "3," he wrote firmly in the right hand corner. "Pay to the order of," he read; "Dolly Margaret Sims," he wrote, "Four hundred and eighty and no-hundredths dollars." He signed the check, tore it off, and let the now looted check-book drop negligently to the floor. He placed the folded check in an envelope, wrote a little letter and placed it by the check, sealed the envelope, and wrote upon it, MRS. CHARLES NORTON SIMS 267 West 129th St. New York and rang for a messenger boy, to whom he gave the letter. Then calling for a taxi-cab, he whizzed away to the Grand Central station. Ten minutes later, amid a ding-donging of bells and a roaring of steam, a big, luxurious train began to strain at its couplings on its way overland. As it slid slowly out beneath the resonant cupola, Charles-Norton emerged from the rear door and stepped out upon the observation platform. And there, upon this wide, large platform, which was much like a miniature stage, Charles-Norton appeared for a moment in undignified pantomime. Leaning over the shining rail, chin thrust out, he shook both fists at the receding city, and spit into its face. CHAPTER VIII Charles-Norton's letter came to Dolly in the evening, after a day full of worry. It read: "DEAR DOLLY:--Enclosed is $480. It's for you. I'm going away. I simply can't stand it, that's all. I think I still love you, Dolly, but I can't stand the life. I can't, that's all. I must have, I must have--well, I can't stand that clipping business any longer. "Please don't grieve. Some day you'll meet a man who is real fond of you and who will make you happy--one that hasn't any wings. There are lots of them. "Yours always (in thought), "CHARLES-NORTON." "P.S.--Please don't feel too bad about this. "C.N."