But the Worm, standing near the marble arch where Fifth Avenue splendidly begins, felt not June in his heart. He walked on through the Square to the old red-brick building where for three years he and Hy Lowe and Pcter Ericson Mann had dwelt in bachelor comfort. The dingy studio apartment on the seventh floor had been his home. But it was a haunt of discord now. He found the usually effervescent Hy pacing the lower hall like a leopard in a cage. Hy wore an immaculately pressed suit of creamy gray flannel, new red tie, red silk hosiery visible above the glistening low-cut tan shoes, a Panama hat with a fluffy striped band around it. In his hand was a thin bamboo stick which he was swinging savagely against his legs. His face worked with anger. He pounced upon the Worm. “Wanted to see you,” he said in a voice that was low but of quavering intensity. “Before I go. Got to run.” At this point the elevator came creaking down. A messenger boy stepped out, carrying Hy's suit-case and light overcoat. “Excuse me,” breathed Hy, “one minute.” He whispered to the boy, pressed a folded dollar bill into his hand, hurried him off. “This thing has become flatly impossible--” “What thing?” The Worm was moodily surveying him. “Pete. He's up there now. I'm through. I shan't go into those rooms again if he--look here! I've found a place for you and me, over in the Mews. Eight dollars less than this and more light. Tell Pete. I. can't talk to him. My God, the man's a--” “He's a what?” asked the Worm. “Well, you know what he _did!_ As there's a God in the Heavens he killed old Wilde.” “Killed your aunt!” observed the Worm, and soberly considered his friend. Hy's elaborate get-up suggested the ladies, a particular lady. The Worm looked him over again from the fluff-bound Panama to the red silk socks. A very particular lady! And he was speaking with wandering eyes and an unreal sort of emphasis; as if his anger, though doubtless genuine enough, were confused with some other emotion regarding which he was not explicit. “Where are you going now--over to the Mews?” Hy started at the abrupt question, took the Worm's elbow, became suddenly confidential. “No,” he said, “not exactly. You see--everything's gone to smash. The creditors of the paper won't keep me on. They'll put in a country preacher with a string tie, and he'll bring his own staff. That's what Pete's done to me! That's what he's done. I wouldn't go off this way, right now, if it wasn't for the awful depression I feel. I didn't sleep a wink last night. Honest, not a wink! A man's got to have _some_ sympathy in his life. Damn it, in a crisis like this--” “Perhaps you can tell me with even greater lucidity when you are coming back,” said the Worm dryly. Hy gulped, stared blankly at his friend, uttered explosively the one word, “Monday!” Then he glanced at his watch and hurried out of the building. The Worm slowly shook his head and took the elevator.