The blood came rushing to Peter's face. Anger stirred. He slipped the folded envelope into her hand. It was some satisfaction that she had either to take it or let them all see it drop. She took it; but Still ignored him. Her intent to snub him was clear now, even to the bewildered Peter. He mumbled something, he did not know what, and rushed away as erratically as he had come. What had he wanted to say to her, anyway! At the corner he turned and came part way back, slowly and uncertainly. But what he saw checked him. The Worm was talking apart with her now. And she was looking up into his face with an expression of pleased interest, frankly smiling. While Peter watched, the two moved off along the street. Peter walked the streets, in a fever of spirit. One o'clock found him out on the high curve of the Williamsburg bridge where he could lean on the railing and look down on the river with its colored splashes of light or up and across at the myriad twinkling towers of the great city. “I'll use her!” he muttered. “She is fair game, I tell you! She will find yet that she must listen to me!” And turning about on the deserted bridge, Peter clenched his fist and shook it at the great still city on the island. “You will all listen to me yet!” he cried aloud. “Yes, you will--you'll listen!” CHAPTER V--PETER TREADS THE HEIGHTS |HE walked rapidly back to the rooms. For his bachelor girl play was swiftly, like magic, working itself out all new in his mind, actually taking form from moment to moment, arranging and rearranging itself nearer and nearer to a complete dramatic story. The big scene was fairly tumbling into form. He saw it as clearly as if it were being enacted before his eyes.... Father and daughter--the two generations; the solid Old, the experimental selfish New. He could see that typical bachelor girl, too. If she looked like Sue Wilde that didn't matter. He would teach her a lesson she would never forget--this “modern” girl who forgets all her parents have done in giving and developing her life and thinks only of her own selfish freedom. It should be like an outcry from the old hearthstone. And he saw the picture as only a nerve-racked, soul-weary bachelor can see it. There were pleasant lawns in Peter's ideal home and crackling fireplaces and merry children and smiling perfect parents--no problems, excepting that one of the unfilial child. Boys had to strike out, of course. But the girl should either marry or stay at home. He was certain about this. On those who did neither--on the bachelor girls, with their “freedom,” their “truth,” their cigarettes, their repudiation of all responsibility--on these he would pour the scorn of his genius. Sue Wilde, who so plainly thought him uninteresting, should be his target. He would write straight at her, every minute, and a world should hear him!