6

The Senator's cheeks and forehead and nose were shining redly above the little white beard, which, for itself, looked more than ever askew. The straw hat was far back on his head. He waved a limp hand toward the enormous, brightly lighted painting that hung over the bar.

Henry, a painfully set look on his face, sat opposite, across the alcove, leaned heavily on the table, and watched him.

The passion had gone out of him. He was wishing, in a state near despair, that he had listened more attentively to what Madame Watt had said. Something about getting word to her—at the restaurant. But how could he? If it had seemed disastrously difficult before, full of his own trouble, to face that merry party, it was now, with this really tragic problem on his hands, flatly impossible.

And there wasn't a soul in the world to help him. He must work it out alone. Even if he might get word to Madame, what could she do? She couldn't leave her party. And she couldn't bring this pitiable object in among those young people.

Henry's lips pressed together. The world looked to him just now a savage wilderness.

'Consider women, for instance!' The Senator's hand waved again toward the picture. It was surprising to Henry that he could speak with such distinctness. 'Consider women! They toil not, neither do they spin. Yet at the last, they bite like a serpent and sting like an adder.'

Henry held his watch under the table; glanced down. It was five minutes past twelve. For nearly an hour he had been sitting there, helpless, beating his brain for schemes that wouldn't present themselves. The twelve-fourteen was as good as gone, of course. Though it had not for a minute been possible. He thought vaguely, occasionally, of a hotel. But stronger and more persistent was the feeling that he ought to get him out home if he could.

'Women...!' The Senator drooped in his chair. Then looked up; braced himself; shouted, 'Here, boy! A bit more of the same!' When the glass was before him he drank, brightened a little, and resumed. 'Woman, my boy, is th' root—No, I will go farther! I will state that woman is th' root 'n' branch of all evil.'

Henry, with a muttered, 'Excuse me, Senator!' got out of the alcove and stepped outside the door. He stood on the door-step; took off his hat and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Across the street, near the side door of the hotel, stood an old-fashioned closed hack. The driver lay curled up across his seat, asleep. The horses stood with drooping heads.

Henry gazed intently at the dingy vehicle. Slowly his eyes narrowed. He looked again at his watch. Then he moved deliberately across the way and woke the cabman.

'Hey!' he cried, as the man fumblingly put on his hat and blinked up the street and down. 'Hey, you! What'll you take to drive to Sunbury?'

'Sunbury? Oh, that's a long way. And it's pretty late at night.'

'I know all that! How much'll you take?'

The cabman pondered.

'How many?'

'Two.'

'Fifteen dollars.'

'Oh, say I, that's twice too much! Why——'

'Fifteen dollars.'

'But——-'

'Fifteen dollars.'

Henry swallowed. He felt very daring. He had heard of fellows and girls missing the late train and driving out. But the amount usually mentioned was ten dollars. However...

'All right. Drive across here.'

He bent over the Senator, who was talking, still on the one topic, to a small picture just above Henry's empty seat.

'We're going home now, Senator. You'd better come with me.'

'Going home? No, not there. Not there. Back to the Senate, yes. Tha's different. But not home. If you knew what I've——'

Henry led him out. But first the Senator, with some difficulty in the managing, paid his check. Henry would have paid it, but hadn't nearly enough. It had never occurred to him that a single individual could spend so large a sum on himself within the space of less, considerably less, than three hours.

The cabman and Henry together got him into the hack.

'They are pop—popularly known as the weaker sex. All a ter'ble mistake, young man. They're stronger. Li'l do you dream how stronger—how great—how more stronger they are. Curious about words. At times one commands them with ease. Other times they elude one. Words are more tricky—few suspect—but women allure us only to destroy us. Women....'

Before the cab rolled across the Rush Street Bridge on its long journey to the northward he was asleep.