Had Peter been less preoccupied, he would have noted that Hy was unusually silent. As it was, conscious only that the atmosphere of magical melancholy had been shattered when the door opened, Peter undressed, put out the gas lamp and went to bed, his bed being the very couch on which she had curled up while he read the scenario. He knew that sleep would be impossible, but he felt that he should make every possible effort to control himself. Hy was fussing about in the bedroom. After a while--a long while--he heard Hy come tiptoeing into the room and stand motionless. “What the devil do you want!” cried Peter, starting up, all nerves. “Just wanted to make sure you weren't asleep.” And Hy chuckled breathlessly. “Quit your cackling! What do you want?” “Let me sit down, Pete. Damn it. I've got to talk--to somebody. Pete, I'm crazy. I'm delirious. Never mind what I say. Oh, my boy. My boy, you don't know--you can't imagine!... She's the darling of the gods, Peter! The absolute darling of the absolute gods!” “Is that any reason why you should come driveling all over my room at this time of night?” “Wait, Pete--serious now. You've got to stand by me in this. The way I've stood by you once or twice. To-day was Friday, wasn't it? Or am I crazy?” “Both.” “Then it's to-morrow! I'm just trying to believe it, Pete, that's all.” “Believe _what?_” “Look here--you've got to know, and protect me if any unexpected thing should come up. We're going on a little trip, Peter.” Hy was solemn now, but his voice was uncertain. “Betty and I, Pete. To-morrow. On the night boat.” Peter was silent. Hy stood there for what seemed rather a long time, then suddenly bolted back into the bedroom. In the morning he was less expansive, merely asking Peter to respect his confidence. Which request Peter gloomily resented as he resented Hy's luck. The fortunate young man then packed a hand-bag and hurried off to breakfast at the club. Peter tried to work on an empty stomach, but the effort gave him a headache, so he made himself a cup of coffee. He walked the streets for a while with increasing restlessness; then, to soothe his nerves, went to the club and listlessly read the magazines. At noon he avoided his friends, but managed to eat a small luncheon. At two o'clock he went out aimlessly and entered the nearest moving-picture theater. At five he wandered back to the club and furtively asked the telephone boy if there' had been any messages for him. There had not. He permitted himself to be drawn into a riotous game of Kelly pool. Also he permitted himself a drink or two. During the evening, I regret to note, he got himself rather drunk and went home in a taxicab. This was unusual with Peter and not successful. It intensified his self-consciousness and his sorrow, made him even gloomier. But it did help him to sleep.