He picked up the suit-case and marched off--a tall, thin, determined young man with an odd trick of throwing his right leg out and around as he walked and toeing in with the right foot--marched straight across town, under the Sixth Avenue Elevated, on into Greenwich Village; let himself into a rather dingy apartment building and then into a bare little three-rooms-and-bath from which not two hours back he had helped carry a big trunk, and dropped into the armchair in the living-room. And his hands shook with excitement as he lighted his pipe. “I'm a wild man!” he informed himself--“perfectly wild! It's not a bad thing!” He slept, the last few hours of the night, on a bare mattress. But then a bachelor of a whimsical turn can make-shift now and then. All this on the Saturday. On the Monday morning early, between eight and nine, there was giggling and fumbling at the apartment door, followed by a not over-resolute knock. The Worm--pipe in mouth, wearing his old striped pajamas caught across the chest with a safety-pin,--dropped his pen, snorted with impatience, and strode, heedless of self to the door. There stood an elated, abashed couple. Hy Lowe, still dapper, apparently very happy; Betty, glancing at him with an expression near timidity. “Of all things!” she murmured, taking in the somewhat unconventional figure before her. “You, Worm!” chuckled Hy blithely. “Why, you old devil!” Henry Bates was looking impatiently from one to the other. “Well,” said he--“what do you want?” Hy looked at Betty; Betty looked at Hy. She colored very prettily; he leaned against the wall and laughed softly there until his eyes filled, laughed himself weak. Finally he managed to observe to the irate figure on the sill, who held his pipe in a threatening attitude and awaited an explanation--“My son, are you aware that the lady lives here? Also that you could hardly be termed overdressed.” She spoke now, softly, with hesitation-- “Where is Sue, Mr. Bates?” He waved his pipe. “Gone--New Jersey.” Betty seemed to recollect. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “And wasn't there something--the other day, when was it--” She exchanged a helplessly emotional glance with the partly sobered Hy. “--Saturday it must have been. Oh, of course, you wanted me to pack Sue's things.” “They're packed,” snapped the Worm. “And gone.” “And what, pray, are you doing here?” This from Hy. “Living here,” said the Worm. Again the two sought each other's eyes. “Well, really--” Hy began. Betty rested her hand on his arm. “Perhaps, Mr. Bates--you see, some of my things are here--some things I need--” Suddenly the Worm remembered. He blushed; then seemed to grow more angry. “You'd better come in and get them,” said he. “Well--if I might--” They came in. Betty repacked her bog in the bedroom. Once she called to Hy; they whispered; then he brought her his bag.