Chalmers returned from his own mission, wiping his eyes.
"Poor fellow, he knows he's dead now. But I broke down and sobbed like a child when I gave it to him—I'm all heart. It's over now, all but the life insurance. And yet he didn't thank me. On the contrary he spoke language I should blush to repeat."
The others put on looks of chastened gloom and were speaking in hushed tones of the sad event when Baldwin returned. He dismissed his uniformed attendants with largesse.
"Thing that needed to be done for his own good," he explained. "Max believes he's an art editor, but nobody else does—nobody else ever believed it in this whole wide, beautiful world. So I lined those trusting little boys up in front of his door and said, 'Boys, look in there and you will see a real art editor.' They looked in at old Max and then at me. 'You believe it, don't you, boys?' I asked them, and they all said, 'Yes, sir!' So I made them bow to him and say in concert, 'We do believe you are an art editor, no matter what other people say,' and then we left. We had to. I'm ashamed to tell you—but old Max seemed to forget that he was a gentleman. He'll thank me when he comes to his senses, all the same. He can lay his head on his pillow to-night knowing that there are others in the world besides himself who believe he's an art editor. Oh, I love to do good!" he concluded with a benevolent smirk.
Once more they were in the hansoms and Ewing slept again, to the strains of "I have other mothers now," sung by Baldwin, who sat in his lap.
As they climbed the stairs of the Rookery Baldwin found the moment suited for sage counsel to Chalmers.
"'T won't do, my boy—'t won't do! Can't burn candles both ends. Your face this minute looks like one of those cheap apple pies in a restaurant window."
Ewing mounted to his own floor and found himself in the curious stillness of the big room. It had seemed to wait there for him, mutely, but with desire. He stood a moment in the silence, his ears ringing with after sounds of the night. He fell on the couch, too tired to go formally to bed, and felt himself falling into sleep as into a beneficent and welcoming abyss.