Very slowly, eying each other, they obeyed. Zanin brushed off his clothes as well as he could with his hands; then, for the first time conscious of the blood on his face, mopped at it with his handkerchief. Peter went off under the low-hanging center chandelier and examined with a pained expression, his ruined coat. There were steps and voices on the stairs. She of the big spectacles appeared in the doorway. “I beg your pardon,” observed Peter with breathless formality, “but have you got a pin?” She stared at him; then at Zanin, finally at the Worm. “There's a gentleman up-stairs,” she said mechanically in a lifeless voice. The Worm went up. A businesslike young man was standing in the upper hall, looking about him with mild curiosity. “Whom did you wish to see?” asked the Worm. “Mr. Zanin and Mr. Mann.” “Oh--you must be the attorney for the Interstellar people.” “I am.” “Come this way,” said the Worm with calm, and ushered him down the stairs and into the dining-room. Sue was sitting alone on a bench in Washington Square. She saw Henry Bates approaching and rose hurriedly to meet him. “It's all over,” said he cheerfully. “But, Henry--tell me--what on earth!” “No particular damage beyond what court plaster and Peter's tailor can fix up.” “But--but---how is it over so soon? What are they doing?” “When I left, Zanin was entertaining that attorney chap.” “And Peter?” “Down on his hands and knees trying to find the contract.” “Is he--will he--” “Sign it? Yes. They want you to sign, too. But I told them you'd do it in the morning. You're to have a ten per cent, interest--Zanin and Peter each fifteen.” “But I don't want--” “May as well take it. You've earned it.... Look here, Sue, has it occurred to you that we--you and I--haven't had a morsel to eat yet?” She started in genuine surprise; looked up at him with an intent expression that he could not, at the moment, fathom; then suddenly threw back her head. “Henry',” she said, a ring in her voice, “I--I'm not engaged any more--not to anybody! I want--” she gave a slow little laugh--“some oysters.” “At Jim's!” he cried. He slipped his arm through hers. Free-hearted as the birds that slumbered in the trees overhead they strolled over to the congenial oyster bar. So passed The Nature Film Producing Co., Inc., Jacob Zanin, Pres't. CHAPTER XXII--A BACHELOR AT LARGE |YOU are to picture Washington Square at the beginning of June. Very early in the morning--to be accurate, eight-fifty. Without the old bachelor apartment building, fresh green trees, air steaming and quivering with radiation and evaporation from warm wet asphalt, rumbling autobusses, endless streams of men and girls hurrying eastward and northward to the day's work or turning into the commercial-looking University building at our right, and hard at it, the inevitable hurdy gurdy; within, seventh floor front, large dim studio, Hy Lowe buttoning his collar and singing lustily--