He walked off with the plants. Having the money in his pocket to break his fast, it seemed as though he could not get to the hospital swiftly enough. But when he had handed in the flowers, and was on his way back again to the square, he remembered suddenly the woman who had sat by him on the bench, and who had been hungry also. He had fifty cents in his pocket now, and in the window of an eating-house on Fourth Avenue he saw the sign, "Regular Breakfast, 25 cts." He had money enough to buy two regular breakfasts, one for himself and one for her. He made the circle of the little park three times, besides traversing it in every direction, and then he had to confess that she was beyond his reach. So he went to the restaurant alone, and had a regular breakfast all to himself. When he came forth he felt refreshed, and the people who were now hurrying along the streets struck him as happier than those he had seen in the gray dawn. The long sunbeams were lighting the side streets. The workmen with their dinner-pails were giving place to the shop-girls with their luncheons tied up in paper. The roar of the great city arose once more as the mighty tide of humanity again swept through its thoroughfares. He went back to the gardeners' wagons, believing that he might earn another half-dollar. But when he saw other men waiting there hungrily, he turned away, thinking it only fair to give them a chance too. He found a seat in the sun, and looked on while the flower-market was stripped by later purchasers. He wondered where the plants were all going, and then he remembered that the same flowers serve for the funeral and for the wedding. For the first time it struck him as strange that the plant which dresses a dinner-table to-day may gladden a sick-room to-morrow, and be bedded on a grave the day after. At last he thought the hour had come when the post-office would be open again, and he set off for Fifth Avenue and Thirteenth Street. When he reached the station he checked his walk. He did not dare go in, although the doors were open, and he could see other men and women asking questions at the little square windows. What if his questions should meet with the same answer as yesterday? What if he should have to spend another night in Union Square? He nerved himself at last and entered. As he approached the window the clerk looked at him with a glance of recognition. "McDowell Sutro, isn't it? Yes--there is a letter for you. Overweight, too--there's four cents extra postage to pay." The young man's hand trembled as he put down the quarter left after paying for his regular breakfast. He seized the envelope swiftly, and almost forgot to pick up his change, till the clerk reminded him of it. He tore the letter open. It was from Tom Pixley; it contained a post-office order for fifty dollars; and it began: