“The rest of it is”--this from Hy--“I come in at four-thirty that afternoon to pack up my things, and the Reverend Doctor Wilde hands me a raise. I get sixty now. I am on that famous road to wealth.” “But what on earth--” Hy chuckled. “Worm says the old boy thought I knew.” “Ah!” breathed Peter. “Ah!” “Can't say I wonder at Sue's leaving home, hitting out for the self-expression thing.” Hy grew more expansive as the liquor spread its glowing warmth within his person. Otherwise he would hardly have spoken of Sue, even on the strength of that genial grin of Peter's. Peter leaned an elbow on the mahogany bar and slowly sipped. “I wonder if Sue suspects this.” It was not easy for him to speak her name. But he did speak it, with an apparent casualness worthy of Waters Coryell. “Probably not. I've worked at his elbow for years and never dreamed.” He sighed. “It's hard to see where a girl of any spirit gets off these days. From my experience with 'em, I'm convinced that home is the safest place for 'em, and yet it's only the dead ones that'll give up and stay there.” Peter did not reply. His brows were knit, but not, apparently, in concentration, for his eyes wandered. He said something about getting his bags over to the rooms; started irresolutely down the passage toward the barber shop; stopped; pressed his fingers to his mouth; came back, passing Hy as if he didn't see him and went on out to the side street. Here he stopped again. The side street was narrow. A cross-town car shut off most of his view of the Avenue, a few yards away. Then it passed, and he saw a young couple strolling across toward the restaurant. The man--large, heavy of hand and foot, a peasant-like, face curiously lighted by burning eyes, better dressed than usual--was Jacob Zanin. The girl--slim, astonishingly fresh and pretty, not wearing the old tarn o' shanter and haphazard costume he associated with her, but a simple light suit--was Sue Wilde; the girl who by her hardness and selfishness had hurt Peter irreparably. There they were, chatting casually, quite at ease--Zanin, who didn't believe in marriage, who had pursued Sue with amazing patience for nearly two years, who had wrecked Peter's pocket; Sue, who had broken his heart. CHAPTER XXVII--PETER IS DRIVEN TO ACT |THE spectacle stopped Peter's brain. Among all the wild pictures that had rushed helter skelter through his overwrought mind of late there had been nothing like this. Why, it was only a matter of days since he and Zanin had pummeled each other to an accompaniment of broken chairs, overturned tables, wrecked china, torn clothing, actual blood. He had pictured Sue, a confused disillusioned girl, rushing back to her home; Zanin a marked man, even in the Village, cowering away from his fellows. But this!