IaskedherwhethershehadeverheardanyoftheWagnerianoperasandfoundthatshehadnot，thoughshewasperfectlyfamiliarwiththeirrespectivesituations，andhadoncepossessedthepianoscoreofTheFlyingDutchman。IbegantothinkitwouldhavebeenbesttogetherbacktoRedWillowCountywithoutwakingher，andregrettedhavingsuggestedtheconcert。
Fromthetimeweenteredtheconcerthall，however，shewasatriflelesspassiveandinert，andforthefirsttimeseemedtoperceivehersurroundings。Ihadfeltsometrepidationlestshemightbecomeawareoftheabsurditiesofherattire，ormightexperiencesomepainfulembarrassmentatsteppingsuddenlyintotheworldtowhichshehadbeendeadforaquarterofacentury。
But，again，IfoundhowsuperficiallyIhadjudgedher。Shesatlookingaboutherwitheyesasimpersonal，almostasstony，asthosewithwhichthegraniteRamesesinamuseumwatchesthefrothandfretthatebbsandflowsabouthispedestal-separatedfromitbythelonelystretchofcenturies。IhaveseenthissamealoofnessinoldminerswhodriftintotheBrownHotelatDenver，theirpocketsfullofbullion，theirlinensoiled，theirhaggardfacesunshaven；standinginthethrongedcorridorsassolitaryasthoughtheywerestillinafrozencampontheYukon，consciousthatcertainexperienceshaveisolatedthemfromtheirfellowsbyagulfnohaberdashercouldbridge。
Wesatattheextremeleftofthefirstbalcony，facingthearcofourownandthebalconyaboveus，veritablehanginggardens，brilliantastulipbeds。Thematineeaudiencewasmadeupchieflyofwomen。Onelostthecontouroffacesandfigures——
indeed，anyeffectoflinewhatever-andtherewasonlythecolorofbodicespastcounting，theshimmeroffabricssoftandfirm，silkyandsheer:red，mauve，pink，blue，lilac，purple，ecru，rose，yellow，cream，andwhite，allthecolorsthatanimpressionistfindsinasunlitlandscape，withhereandtherethedeadshadowofafrockcoat。MyAuntGeorgianaregardedthemasthoughtheyhadbeensomanydaubsoftube-paintonapalette。
Whenthemusicianscameoutandtooktheirplaces，shegavealittlestirofanticipationandlookedwithquickeninginterestdownovertherailatthatinvariablegrouping，perhapsthefirstwhollyfamiliarthingthathadgreetedhereyesinceshehadleftoldMaggieandherweaklingcalf。Icouldfeelhowallthosedetailssankintohersoul，forIhadnotforgottenhowtheyhadsunkintominewhen。Icamefreshfromplowingforeverandforeverbetweengreenaislesofcorn，where，asinatreadmill，onemightwalkfromdaybreaktoduskwithoutperceivingashadowofchange。Thecleanprofilesofthemusicians，theglossoftheirlinen，thedullblackoftheircoats，thebelovedshapesoftheinstruments，thepatchesofyellowlightthrownbythegreen-
shadedlampsonthesmooth，varnishedbelliesofthecellosandthebassviolsintherear，therestless，wind-tossedforestoffiddlenecksandbows-Irecalledhow，inthefirstorchestraI
hadeverheard，thoselongbowstrokesseemedtodrawtheheartoutofme，asaconjurer’sstickreelsoutyardsofpaperribbonfromahat。
ThefirstnumberwastheTannhauseroverture。WhenthehornsdrewoutthefirststrainofthePilgrim’schorusmyAuntGeorgianaclutchedmycoatsleeve。ThenitwasIfirstrealizedthatforherthisbrokeasilenceofthirtyyears；theinconceivablesilenceoftheplains。Withthebattlebetweenthetwomotives，withthefrenzyoftheVenusbergthemeanditsrippingofstrings，therecametomeanoverwhelmingsenseofthewasteandwearwearesopowerlesstocombat；andIsawagainthetall，nakedhouseontheprairie，blackandgrimasawoodenfortress；theblackpondwhereIhadlearnedtoswim，itsmarginpittedwithsun-driedcattletracks；therain-gulliedclaybanksaboutthenakedhouse，thefourdwarfashseedlingswherethedishclothswerealwayshungtodrybeforethekitchendoor。Theworldtherewastheflatworldoftheancients；totheeast，acornfieldthatstretchedtodaybreak；tothewest，acorralthatreachedtosunset；between，theconquestsofpeace，dearerboughtthanthoseofwar。
Theovertureclosed；myauntreleasedmycoatsleeve，butshesaidnothing。Shesatstaringattheorchestrathroughadullnessofthirtyyears，throughthefilmsmadelittlebylittlebyeachofthethreehundredandsixty-fivedaysineveryoneofthem。What，Iwondered，didshegetfromit？ShehadbeenagoodpianistinherdayIknew，andhermusicaleducationhadbeenbroaderthanthatofmostmusicteachersofaquarterofacenturyago。ShehadoftentoldmeofMozart’soperasandMeyerbeer’s，andIcouldrememberhearinghersing，yearsago，certainmelodiesofVerdi’s。WhenIhadfallenillwithafeverinherhousesheusedtositbymycotintheevening——whenthecool，nightwindblewinthroughthefadedmosquitonettingtackedoverthewindow，andIlaywatchingacertainbrightstarthatburnedredabovethecornfield——andsing“Hometoourmountains，O，letusreturn！“inawayfittobreaktheheartofaVermontboyneardeadofhomesicknessalready。
IwatchedhercloselythroughthepreludetoTristanandIsolde，tryingvainlytoconjecturewhatthatseethingturmoilofstringsandwindsmightmeantoher，butshesatmutelystaringattheviolinbowsthatdroveobliquelydownward，likethepeltingstreaksofraininasummershower。Hadthismusicanymessageforher？Hadsheenoughlefttoatallcomprehendthispowerwhichhadkindledtheworldsinceshehadleftit？Iwasinafeverofcuriosity，butAuntGeorgianasatsilentuponherpeakinDarien。ShepreservedthisutterimmobilitythroughoutthenumberfromTheFlyingDutchman，thoughherfingersworkedmechanicallyuponherblackdress，asthough，ofthemselves，theywererecallingthepianoscoretheyhadonceplayed。Pooroldhands！Theyhadbeenstretchedandtwistedintomeretentaclestoholdandliftandkneadwith；thepalmsundulyswollen，thefingersbentandknotted——ononeofthemathin，wornbandthathadoncebeenaweddingring。AsIpressedandgentlyquietedoneofthosegropinghandsIrememberedwithquiveringeyelidstheirservicesformeinotherdays。
Soonafterthetenorbeganthe“PrizeSong，“Iheardaquickdrawnbreathandturnedtomyaunt。Hereyeswereclosed，butthetearswereglisteningonhercheeks，andIthink，inamomentmore，theywereinmyeyesaswell。Itneverreallydied，then——
thesoulthatcansuffersoexcruciatinglyandsointerminably；
itwitherstotheoutwardeyeonly；likethatstrangemosswhichcanlieonadustyshelfhalfacenturyandyet，ifplacedinwater，growsgreenagain。Sheweptsothroughoutthedevelopmentandelaborationofthemelody。
Duringtheintermissionbeforethesecondhalfoftheconcert，I
questionedmyauntandfoundthatthe“PrizeSong“wasnotnewtoher。SomeyearsbeforetherehaddriftedtothefarminRedWillowCountyayoungGerman，atrampcowpuncher，whohadsungthechorusatBayreuth，whenhewasaboy，alongwiththeotherpeasantboysandgirls。OfaSundaymorningheusedtositonhisgingham-sheetedbedinthehands’bedroomwhichopenedoffthekitchen，cleaningtheleatherofhisbootsandsaddle，singingthe“PrizeSong，“whilemyauntwentaboutherworkinthekitchen。
Shehadhoveredabouthimuntilshehadprevaileduponhimtojointhecountrychurch，thoughhissolefitnessforthisstep，insofarasIcouldgather，layinhisboyishfaceandhispossessionofthisdivinemelody。ShortlyafterwardhehadgonetotownontheFourthofJuly，beendrunkforseveraldays，losthismoneyatafarotable，riddenasaddledTexansteeronabet，anddisappearedwithafracturedcollarbone。Allthismyaunttoldmehuskily，wanderingly，asthoughsheweretalkingintheweaklapsesofillness。
“Well，wehavecometobetterthingsthantheoldTrovatore
atanyrate，AuntGeorgie？“Iqueried，withawell-meanteffortatjocularity。
Herlipquiveredandshehastilyputherhandkerchiefuptohermouth。Frombehinditshemurmured，“Andyouhavebeenhearingthiseversinceyouleftme，Clark？“Herquestionwasthegentlestandsaddestofreproaches。
ThesecondhalfoftheprogramconsistedoffournumbersfromtheRing，andclosedwithSiegfried’sfuneralmarch。Myauntweptquietly，butalmostcontinuously，asashallowvesseloverflowsinarainstorm。Fromtimetotimeherdimeyeslookedupatthelightswhichstuddedtheceiling，burningsoftlyundertheirdullglassglobes；doubtlesstheywerestarsintruthtoher。Iwasstillperplexedastowhatmeasureofmusicalcomprehensionwaslefttoher，shewhohadheardnothingbutthesingingofgospelhymnsatMethodistservicesinthesquareframeschoolhouseonSectionThirteenforsomanyyears。Iwaswhollyunabletogaugehowmuchofithadbeendissolvedinsoapsuds，orworkedintobread，ormilkedintothebottomofapail。
Thedelugeofsoundpouredonandon；Ineverknewwhatshefoundintheshiningcurrentofit；Ineverknewhowfaritboreher，orpastwhathappyislands。FromthetremblingofherfaceIcouldwellbelievethatbeforethelastnumbersshehadbeencarriedoutwherethemyriadgravesare，intothegray，namelessburyinggroundsofthesea；orintosomeworldofdeathvasteryet，where，fromthebeginningoftheworld，hopehaslaindownwithhopeanddreamwithdreamand，renouncing，slept。
Theconcertwasover；thepeoplefiledoutofthehallchatteringandlaughing，gladtorelaxandfindthelivinglevelagain，butmykinswomanmadenoefforttorise。Theharpistslippeditsgreenfeltcoveroverhisinstrument；thefluteplayersshookthewaterfromtheirmouthpieces；themenoftheorchestrawentoutonebyone，leavingthestagetothechairsandmusicstands，emptyasawintercornfield。
Ispoketomyaunt。Sheburstintotearsandsobbedpleadingly。
“Idon’twanttogo，Clark，Idon’twanttogo！“
Iunderstood。Forher，justoutsidethedooroftheconcerthall，laytheblackpondwiththecattle-trackedbluffs；thetall，unpaintedhouse，withweather-curledboards；nakedasatower，thecrook-backedashseedlingswherethedishclothshungtodry；thegaunt，moltingturkeyspickinguprefuseaboutthekitchendoor。End
Paul’sCase
AStudyinTemperament
ItwasPaul’safternoontoappearbeforethefacultyofthe
PittsburghHighSchooltoaccountforhisvariousmisdemeanors。
Hehadbeensuspendedaweekago，andhisfatherhadcalledat
thePrincipal’sofficeandconfessedhisperplexityabouthis
son。Paulenteredthefacultyroomsuaveandsmiling。His
clotheswereatrifleoutgrown，andthetanvelvetonthecollar
ofhisopenovercoatwasfrayedandworn；butforallthatthere
wassomethingofthedandyabouthim，andheworeanopalpinin
hisneatlyknottedblackfour-in-hand，andaredcarnationinhis
buttonhole。Thislatteradornmentthefacultysomehowfeltwas
notproperlysignificantofthecontritespiritbefittingaboy
underthebanofsuspension。
Paulwastallforhisageandverythin，withhigh，cramped
shouldersandanarrowchest。Hiseyeswereremarkablefora
certainhystericalbrilliancy，andhecontinuallyusedthemina
conscious，theatricalsortofway，peculiarlyoffensiveinaboy。
Thepupilswereabnormallylarge，asthoughhewereaddictedto
belladonna，buttherewasaglassyglitteraboutthemwhichthat
drugdoesnotproduce。
WhenquestionedbythePrincipalastowhyhewastherePaul
stated，politelyenough，thathewantedtocomebacktoschool。
Thiswasalie，butPaulwasquiteaccustomedtolying；foundit，
indeed，indispensableforovercomingfriction。Histeacherswere
askedtostatetheirrespectivechargesagainsthim，whichthey
didwithsucharancorandaggrievednessasevincedthatthiswas
notausualcase，Disorderandimpertinencewereamongthe
offensesnamed，yeteachofhisinstructorsfeltthatitwas
scarcelypossibletoputintowordstherealcauseofthetrouble，
whichlayinasortofhystericallydefiantmanneroftheboy’s；in
thecontemptwhichtheyallknewhefeltforthem，andwhichhe
seeminglymadenottheleastefforttoconceal。Once，whenhe
hadbeenmakingasynopsisofaparagraphattheblackboard，his
Englishteacherhadsteppedtohissideandattemptedtoguide
hishand。Paulhadstartedbackwithashudderandthrusthis
handsviolentlybehindhim。Theastonishedwomancouldscarcely
havebeenmorehurtandembarrassedhadhestruckather。The
insultwassoinvoluntaryanddefinitelypersonalastobe
unforgettable。inonewayandanotherhehadmadeallhis
teachers，menandwomenalike，consciousofthesamefeelingof
physicalaversion。Inoneclasshehabituallysatwithhishand
shadinghiseyes；inanotherhealwayslookedoutofthewindow
duringtherecitation；inanotherhemadearunningcommentaryon
thelecture，withhumorousintention。
Histeachersfeltthisafternoonthathiswholeattitudewas
symbolizedbyhisshrugandhisflippantlyredcarnationflower，
andtheyfelluponhimwithoutmercy，hisEnglishteacherleading
thepack。Hestoodthroughitsmiling，hispalelipspartedover
hiswhiteteeth。Hislipswerecontinuallytwitching，andbehad
ahabitofraisinghiseyebrowsthatwascontemptuousand
irritatingtothelastdegree。OlderboysthanPaulhadbroken
downandshedtearsunderthatbaptismoffire，buthissetsmile
didnotoncedeserthim，andhisonlysignofdiscomfortwasthe
nervoustremblingofthefingersthattoyedwiththebuttonsof
hisovercoat，andanoccasionaljerkingoftheotherhandthat
heldhishat。Paulwasalwayssmiling，alwaysglancingabout
him，seemingtofeelthatpeoplemightbewatchinghimandtrying
todetectsomething。Thisconsciousexpression，sinceitwasas
faraspossiblefromboyishmirthfulness，wasusuallyattributed
toinsolenceor“smartness。“
Astheinquisitionproceededoneofhisinstructorsrepeated
animpertinentremarkoftheboy’s，andthePrincipalaskedhim
whetherhethoughtthatacourteousspeechtohavemadea
woman。Paulshruggedhisshouldersslightlyandhiseyebrows
twitched。
“Idon’tknow，“hereplied。“Ididn’tmeantobepoliteor
impolite，either。Iguessit’sasortofwayIhaveofsaying
thingsregardless。“
ThePrincipal，whowasasympatheticman，askedhimwhether
hedidn’tthinkthatawayitwouldbewelltogetridof。Paul
grinnedandsaidheguessedso。Whenhewastoldthathecould
gohebowedgracefullyandwentout。Hisbowwasbuta
repetitionofthescandalousredcarnation。
Histeacherswereindespair，andhisdrawingmastervoiced
thefeelingofthemallwhenhedeclaredtherewassomething
abouttheboywhichnoneofthemunderstood。Headded:“Idon’t
reallybelievethatsmileofhiscomesaltogetherfrominsolence；
there’ssomethingsortofhauntedaboutit。Theboyisnot
strong，foronething。Ihappentoknowthathewasbornin
Colorado，onlyafewmonthsbeforehismotherdiedoutthereofa
longillness。Thereissomethingwrongaboutthefellow。“
Thedrawingmasterhadcometorealizethat，inlookingat
Paul，onesawonlyhiswhiteteethandtheforcedanimationof
hiseyes。Onewarmafternoontheboyhadgonetosleepathis
drawingboard，andhismasterhadnotedwithamazementwhata
white，blue-veinedfaceitwas；drawnandwrinkledlikeanold
man’sabouttheeyes，thelipstwitchingeveninhissleep，and
stiffwithanervoustensionthatdrewthembackfromhisteeth。
Histeachersleftthebuildingdissatisfiedandunhappy；
humiliatedtohavefeltsovindictivetowardamereboy，tohave
utteredthisfeelingincuttingterms，andtohaveseteachother
on，asitwere，inthegruesomegameofintemperatereproach。
Someofthemrememberedhavingseenamiserablestreetcatsetat
baybyaringoftormentors。
AsforPaul，herandownthehillwhistlingthe“Soldiers’Chorus“
fromFaust，lookingwildlybehindhimnowandthentosee
whethersomeofhisteacherswerenottheretowritheunderhis
lightheartedness。AsitwasnowlateintheafternoonandPaul
wasondutythateveningasusheratCarnegieHall，hedecided
thathewouldnotgohometosupper。Whenhereachedthe
concerthallthedoorswerenotyetopenand，asitwaschilly
outside，hedecidedtogoupintothepicturegallery——always
desertedatthishour——wherethereweresomeofRaffelli’sgay
studiesofParisstreetsandanairyblueVenetiansceneortwo
thatalwaysexhilaratedhim。Hewasdelightedtofindnoonein
thegallerybuttheoldguard，whosatinonecorner，anewspaper
onhisknee，ablackpatchoveroneeyeandtheotherclosed。
Paulpossessedhimselfofthepeaceandwalkedconfidentlyupand
down，whistlingunderhisbreath。Afterawhilehesatdownbefore
ablueRicoandlosthimself。Whenhebethoughthimtolookathis
watch，itwasafterseveno’clock，andherosewithastartandran
downstairs，makingafaceatAugustus，peeringoutfromthecast
room，andanevilgestureattheVenusdeMiloashepassedheron
thestairway。
WhenPaulreachedtheushers’dressingroomhalfadozen
boysweretherealready，andhebeganexcitedlytotumbleinto
hisuniform。Itwasoneofthefewthatatallapproached
fitting，andPaulthoughtitverybecoming-thoughheknewthat
thetight，straightcoataccentuatedhisnarrowchest，about
whichhewasexceedinglysensitive。Hewasalwaysconsiderably
excitedwhilebedressed，twangingallovertothetuningofthe
stringsandthepreliminaryflourishesofthehornsinthemusic
room；buttonightheseemedquitebesidehimself，andheteased
andplaguedtheboysuntil，tellinghimthathewascrazy，they
puthimdownonthefloorandsatonhim。
Somewhatcalmedbyhissuppression，Pauldashedouttothe
frontofthehousetoseattheearlycomers。Hewasamodel
usher；graciousandsmilingheranupanddowntheaisles；
nothingwastoomuchtroubleforhim；hecarriedmessagesand
broughtprogramsasthoughitwerehisgreatestpleasureinlife，
andallthepeopleinhissectionthoughthimacharmingboy，
feelingthatherememberedandadmiredthem。Asthehouse
filled，hegrewmoreandmorevivaciousandanimated，andthe
colorcametohischeeksandlips。Itwasverymuchasthough
thiswereagreatreceptionandPaulwerethehost。justasthe
musicianscameouttotaketheirplaces，hisEnglishteacher
arrivedwithchecksfortheseatswhichaprominent
manufacturerhadtakenfortheseason。Shebetrayedsome
embarrassmentwhenshehandedPaulthetickets，andahauteur
whichsubsequentlymadeherfeelveryfoolish。Paulwas
startledforamoment，andhadthefeelingofwantingtoputher
out；whatbusinesshadshehereamongallthesefinepeopleand
gaycolors？Helookedheroveranddecidedthatshewasnot
appropriatelydressedandmustbeafooltositdownstairsin
suchtogs。Theticketshadprobablybeensentheroutof
kindness，hereflectedasheputdownaseatforher，andshehad
aboutasmuchrighttositthereashehad。
WhenthesymphonybeganPaulsankintooneoftherearseats
withalongsighofrelief，andlosthimselfashehaddone
beforetheRico。Itwasnotthatsymphonies，assuch，meant
anythinginparticulartoPaul，butthefirstsighofthe
instrumentsseemedtofreesomehilariousandpotentspirit
withinhim；somethingthatstruggledtherelikethegenieinthe
bottlefoundbytheArabfisherman。Hefeltasuddenzestof
life；thelightsdancedbeforehiseyesandtheconcerthall
blazedintounimaginablesplendor。Whenthesopranosoloistcame
onPaulforgoteventhenastinessofhisteacher’sbeingthere
andgavehimselfuptothepeculiarstimulussuchpersonages
alwayshadforhim。ThesoloistchancedtobeaGermanwoman，by
nomeansinherfirstyouth，andthemotherofmanychildren；but
sheworeanelaborategownandatiara，andaboveallshehad
thatindefinableairofachievement，thatworld-shineuponher，
which，inPaul’seyes，madeheraveritablequeenofRomance。
AfteraconcertwasoverPaulwasalwaysirritableand
wretcheduntilhegottosleep，andtonighthewasevenmorethan
usuallyrestless。Hehadthefeelingofnotbeingabletolet
down，ofitsbeingimpossibletogiveupthisdelicious
excitementwhichwastheonlythingthatcouldbecalledliving
atall。Duringthelastnumberhewithdrewand，afterhastily
changinghisclothesinthedressingroom，slippedouttothe
sidedoorwherethesoprano’scarriagestood。Herehebegan
pacingrapidlyupanddownthewalk，waitingtoseehercomeout。
Overyonder，theSchenley，initsvacantstretch，loomedbigand
squarethroughthefinerain，thewindowsofitstwelvestories
glowinglikethoseofalightedcardboardhouseunderaChristmas
tree。Alltheactorsandsingersofthebetterclassstayedthere
whentheywereinthecity，andanumberofthebigmanufacturers
oftheplacelivedthereinthewinter。Paulhadoftenhungabout
thehotel，watchingthepeoplegoinandout，longingtoenterand
leaveschoolmastersanddullcarebehindhimforever。
Atlastthesingercameout，accompaniedbytheconductor，who
helpedherintohercarriageandclosedthedoorwithacordial
aufwiedersehenwhichsetPaultowonderingwhethershe
werenotanoldsweetheartofhis。Paulfollowedthecarriage
overtothehotel，walkingsorapidlyasnottobefarfromthe
entrancewhenthesingeralighted，anddisappearedbehindthe
swingingglassdoorsthatwereopenedbyaNegroinatallhat
andalongcoat。Inthemomentthatthedoorwasajaritseemed
toPaulthathe，too，entered。Heseemedtofeelhimselfgo
afterherupthesteps，intothewarm，lightedbuilding，intoan
exotic，tropicalworldofshiny，glisteningsurfacesandbasking
ease。Hereflecteduponthemysteriousdishesthatwerebrought
intothediningroom，thegreenbottlesinbucketsofice，ashe
hadseentheminthesupperpartypicturesoftheSunday
Worldsupplement。Aquickgustofwindbroughttheraindown
withsuddenvehemence，andPaulwasstartledtofindthathewas
stilloutsideintheslushofthegraveldriveway；thathisboots
werelettinginthewaterandhisscantyovercoatwasclingingwet
abouthim；thatthelightsinfrontoftheconcerthallwereout
andthattherainwasdrivinginsheetsbetweenhimandthe
orangeglowofthewindowsabovehim。Thereitwas，whatbe
wanted——tangiblybeforehim，likethefairyworldofaChristmas
pantomime——butmockingspiritsstoodguardatthedoors，and，as
therainbeatinhisface，Paulwonderedwhetherheweredestined
alwaystoshiverintheblacknightoutside，lookingupatit。
Heturnedandwalkedreluctantlytowardthecartracks。The
endhadtocomesometime；hisfatherinhisnightclothesatthe
topofthestairs，explanationsthatdidnotexplain，hastily
improvisedfictionsthatwereforevertrippinghimup，
hisupstairsroomanditshorribleyellowwallpaper，thecreaking
bureauwiththegreasyplushcollarbox，andoverhispainted
woodenbedthepicturesofGeorgeWashingtonandJohnCalvin，and
theframedmotto，“FeedmyLambs，“whichhadbeenworkedinred
worstedbyhismother。
HalfanhourlaterPaulalightedfromhiscarandwent
slowlydownoneofthesidestreetsoffthemainthoroughfare。
Itwasahighlyrespectablestreet，whereallthehouseswere
exactlyalike，andwherebusinessmenofmoderatemeansbegotand
rearedlargefamiliesofchildren，allofwhomwenttoSabbath
schoolandlearnedtheshortercatechism，andwereinterestedin
arithmetic；allofwhomwereasexactlyalikeastheirhomes，and
ofapiecewiththemonotonyinwhichtheylived。Paulnever
wentupCordeliaStreetwithoutashudderofloathing。Hishome
wasnexttothehouseoftheCumberlandminister。Heapproached
ittonightwiththenervelesssenseOfdefeat，thehopeless
feelingofsinkingbackforeverintouglinessandcommonnessthat
hehadalwayshadwhenhecamehome。Themomentheturnedinto
CordeliaStreethefeltthewaterscloseabovehishead。After
eachoftheseorgiesoflivingheexperiencedallthephysical
depressionwhichfollowsadebauch；theloathingofrespectable
beds，ofcommonfood，ofahousepenetratedbykitchenodors；a
shudderingrepulsionfortheflavorless，colorlessmassof
everydayexistence；amorbiddesireforcoolthingsandsoft
lightsandfreshflowers。
Thenearerheapproachedthehouse，themoreabsolutely
unequalPaulfelttothesightofitall:hisuglysleeping
chamber；thecoldbathroomwiththegrimyzinctub，thecracked
mirror，thedrippingspiggots；hisfather，atthetopofthe
stairs，hishairylegsstickingoutfromhisnightshirt，hisfeet
thrustintocarpetslippers。Hewassomuchlaterthanusual
thattherewouldcertainlybeinquiriesandreproaches。Paul
stoppedshortbeforethedoor。Hefeltthathecouldnotbe
accostedbyhisfathertonight；thathecouldnottossagainon
thatmiserablebed。Hewouldnotgoin。Hewouldtellhis
fatherthathehadnocarfareanditwasrainingsohardhehad
gonehomewithoneoftheboysandstayedallnight。
Meanwhile，hewaswetandcold。Hewentaroundtotheback
ofthehouseandtriedoneofthebasementwindows，foundit
open，raiseditcautiously，andscrambleddownthecellarwallto
thefloor。Therehestood，holdinghisbreath，terrifiedbythe
noisehehadmade，butthefloorabovehimwassilent，andthere
wasnocreakonthestairs。Hefoundasoapbox，andcarriedit
overtothesoftringoflightthatstreamedfromthefurnace
door，andsatdown。Hewashorriblyafraidofrats，sohedid
nottrytosleep，butsatlookingdistrustfullyatthedark，
stillterrifiedlesthemighthaveawakenedhisfather。Insuch
reactions，afteroneoftheexperienceswhichmadedaysand
nightsoutofthedrearyblanksofthecalendar，whenhissenses
weredeadened，Paul’sheadwasalwayssingularlyclear。Suppose
hisfatherhadheardhimgettinginatthewindowandhadcome
downandshothimforaburglar？Then，again，supposehisfather
hadcomedown，pistolinhand，andhehadcriedoutintimeto
savehimself，andhisfatherhadbeenhorrifiedtothinkhow
nearlyhehadkilledhim？Then，again，supposeadayshouldcome
whenhisfatherwouldrememberthatnight，andwishtherehad
beennowarningcrytostayhishand？Withthislastsupposition
Paulentertainedhimselfuntildaybreak。
ThefollowingSundaywasfine；thesoddenNovemberchillwas
brokenbythelastflashofautumnalsummer。InthemorningPaul
hadtogotochurchandSabbathschool，asalways。Onseasonable
SundayafternoonstheburghersofCordeliaStreetalwayssatout
ontheirfrontstoopsandtalkedtotheirneighborsonthenext
stoop，orcalledtothoseacrossthestreetinneighborly
fashion。Themenusuallysatongaycushionsplaceduponthe
stepsthatleddowntothesidewalk，whilethewomen，intheir
Sunday“waists，“satinrockersonthecrampedporches，pretending
tobegreatlyattheirease。Thechildrenplayedinthe
streets；thereweresomanyofthemthattheplaceresembledthe
recreationgroundsofakindergarten。Themenonthesteps——all
intheirshirtsleeves，theirvestsunbuttoned——satwiththeir
legswellapart，theirstomachscomfortablyprotruding，and
talkedofthepricesofthings，ortoldanecdotesofthesagacity
oftheirvariouschiefsandoverlords。Theyoccasionallylooked
overthemultitudeofsquabblingchildren，listened
affectionatelytotheirhigh-pitched，nasalvoices，smilingto
seetheirownproclivitiesreproducedintheiroffspring，and
interspersedtheirlegendsoftheironkingswithremarksabout
theirsons’progressatschool，theirgradesinarithmetic，and
theamountstheyhadsavedintheirtoybanks。
OnthislastSundayofNovemberPaulsatalltheafternoon
ontheloweststepofhisstoop，staringintothestreet，while
hissisters，intheirrockers，weretalkingtotheminister’s
daughtersnextdoorabouthowmanyshirtwaiststheyhadmadein
thelastweek，andbowmanywafflessomeonehadeatenatthelast
churchsupper。Whentheweatherwaswarm，andhisfatherwasin
aparticularlyjovialframeofmind，thegirlsmadelemonade，
whichwasalwaysbroughtoutinared-glasspitcher，ornamented
withforget-me-notsinblueenamel。Thisthegirlsthoughtvery
fine，andtheneighborsalwaysjokedaboutthesuspiciouscolor
ofthepitcher。
TodayPaul’sfathersatonthetopstep，talkingtoayoung
manwhoshiftedarestlessbabyfromkneetoknee。Hehappened
tobetheyoungmanwhowasdailyhelduptoPaulasamodel，and
afterwhomitwashisfather’sdearesthopethathewould
pattern。Thisyoungmanwasofaruddycomplexion，witha
compressed，redmouth，andfaded，nearsightedeyes，overwhichhe
worethickspectacles，withgoldbowsthatcurvedabouthisears。
Hewasclerktooneofthemagnatesofagreatsteelcorporation，
andwaslookeduponinCordeliaStreetasayoungmanwitha
future。Therewasastorythat，somefiveyearsago——hewasnow
barelytwenty-six——hehadbeenatrifledissipated，butinorder
tocurbhisappetitesandsavethelossoftimeandstrengththat
asowingofwildoatsmighthaveentailed，hehadtakenhis
chief’sadvice，oftreiteratedtohisemployees，andattwenty-
onehadmarriedthefirstwomanwhomhecouldpersuadetoshare
hisfortunes。Shehappenedtobeanangularschoolmistress，much
olderthanhe，whoalsoworethickglasses，andwhohadnowborne
himfourchildren，allnearsighted，likeherself。
Theyoungmanwasrelatinghowhischief，nowcruisingin
theMediterranean，keptintouchwithallthedetailsof
thebusiness，arranginghisofficehoursonhisyachtjustas
thoughhewereathome，and“knockingoffworkenoughtokeeptwo
stenographersbusy。“Hisfathertold，inturn，theplanhis
corporationwasconsidering，ofputtinginanelectricrailway
plantinCairo。Paulsnappedhisteeth；hehadanawful
apprehensionthattheymightspoilitallbeforehegotthere。
Yetheratherlikedtoheartheselegendsoftheironkingsthat
weretoldandretoldonSundaysandholidays；thesestoriesof
palacesinVenice，yachtsontheMediterranean，andhighplayat
MonteCarloappealedtohisfancy，andhewasinterestedinthe
triumphsofthesecashboyswhohadbecomefamous，thoughhehad
nomindforthecash-boystage。
Aftersupperwasoverandhehadhelpedtodrythedishes，
PaulnervouslyaskedhisfatherwhetherhecouldgotoGeorge’s
togetsomehelpinhisgeometry，andstillmorenervouslyasked
forcarfare。Thislatterrequesthehadtorepeat，ashis
father，onprinciple，didnotliketohearrequestsformoney，
whethermuchorlittle。HeaskedPaulwhetherhecouldnotgoto
someboywholivednearer，andtoldhimthatheoughtnotto
leavehisschoolworkuntilSunday；buthegavehimthedime。He
wasnotapoorman，buthehadaworthyambitiontocomeupin
theworld。HisonlyreasonforallowingPaultousherwasthat
hethoughtaboyoughttobeearningalittle。
Paulboundedupstairs，scrubbedthegreasyodorofthe
dishwaterfromhishandswiththeill-smellingsoaphehated，and
thenshookoverhisfingersafewdropsofvioletwaterfromthe
bottlehekepthiddeninhisdrawer。Heleftthehousewithhis
geometryconspicuouslyunderhisarm，andthemomenthegotout
ofCordeliaStreetandboardedadowntowncar，heshookoffthe
lethargyoftwodeadeningdaysandbegantoliveagain。
Theleadingjuvenileofthepermanentstockcompanywhichplayedat
oneofthedowntowntheaterswasanacquaintanceofPaul’s，andthe
boyhadbeeninvitedtodropinattheSunday-nightrehearsals
wheneverhecould。FormorethanayearPaulhadspentevery
availablemomentloiteringaboutCharleyEdwards’sdressingroom。
HehadwonaplaceamongEdwards’sfollowingnotonlybecausethe
youngactor，whocouldnotaffordtoemployadresser，oftenfound
himuseful，butbecauseherecognizedinPaulsomethingakinto
whatchurchmenterm“vocation。“
ItwasatthetheaterandatCarnegieHallthatPaulreally
lived；therestwasbutasleepandaforgetting。Thiswas
Paul’sfairytale，andithadforhimalltheallurementofa
secretlove。Themomentheinhaledthegassy，painty，dustyodor
behindthescenes，hebreathedlikeaprisonersetfree，andfelt
withinhimthepossibilityofdoingorsayingsplendid，
brilliant，poeticthings。Themomentthecrackedorchestrabeat
outtheoverturefromMartha，orjerkedattheserenadefrom
Rigoletto，allstupidanduglythingsslidfromhim，andhis
sensesweredeliciously，yetdelicatelyfired。
Perhapsitwasbecause，inPaul’sworld，thenaturalnearly
alwaysworetheguiseofugliness，thatacertainelementof
artificialityseemedtohimnecessaryinbeauty。Perhapsitwas
becausehisexperienceoflifeelsewherewassofullofSabbath-
schoolpicnics，pettyeconomies，wholesomeadviceastohowto
succeedinlife，andtheinescapableodorsofcooking，thathe
foundthisexistencesoalluring，thesesmartlycladmenand
womensoattractive，thathewassomovedbythesestarryapple
orchardsthatbloomedperenniallyunderthelimelight。
Itwouldbedifficulttoputitstronglyenoughhow
convincinglythestageentranceofthattheaterwasforPaulthe
actualportalofRomance。Certainlynoneofthecompanyever
suspectedit，leastofallCharleyEdwards。Itwasverylikethe
oldstoriesthatusedtofloataboutLondonoffabulouslyrich
Jews，whohadsubterraneanhallsthere，withpalms，and
fountains，andsoftlampsandrichlyappareledwomenwhonever
sawthedisenchantinglightofLondonday。So，inthemidstof
thatsmoke-palledcity，enamoredoffiguresandgrimytoil，Paul
hadhissecrettemple，hiswishingcarpet，hisbitofblue-and-
whiteMediterraneanshorebathedinperpetualsunshine。
SeveralofPaul’steachershadatheorythathisimagination
hadbeenpervertedbygarishfiction，butthetruthwasthathe
scarcelyeverreadatall。Thebooksathomewerenotsuchas
wouldeithertemptorcorruptayouthfulmind，andasforreading
thenovelsthatsomeofhisfriendsurgeduponhim——well，hegot
whathewantedmuchmorequicklyfrommusic；anysortofmusic，
fromanorchestratoabarrelorgan。Heneededonlythespark，the
indescribablethrillthatmadehisimaginationmasterofhis
senses，andhecouldmakeplotsandpicturesenoughofhisown。It
wasequallytruethathewasnotstagestruck-not，atanyrate，in
theusualacceptationofthatexpression。Hehadnodesireto
becomeanactor，anymorethanhehadtobecomeamusician。He
feltnonecessitytodoanyofthesethings；whathewantedwas
tosee，tobeintheatmosphere，floatonthewaveofit，tobe
carriedout，blueleagueafterblueleague，awayfromeverything。
AfteranightbehindthescenesPaulfoundtheschoolroom
morethaneverrepulsive；thebarefloorsandnakedwalls；the
prosymenwhoneverworefrockcoats，orvioletsintheir
buttonholes；thewomenwiththeirdullgowns，shrillvoices，and
pitifulseriousnessaboutprepositionsthatgovernthedative。
Hecouldnotbeartohavetheotherpupilsthink，foramoment，
thathetookthesepeopleseriously；hemustconveytothemthat
heconsidereditalltrivial，andwasthereonlybywayofa
jest，anyway。Hehadautographedpicturesofallthemembersof
thestockcompanywhichheshowedhisclassmates，tellingthem
themostincrediblestoriesofhisfamiliaritywiththesepeople，
ofhisacquaintancewiththesoloistswhocametoCarnegieHall，
hissupperswiththemandtheflowershesentthem。Whenthese
storieslosttheireffect，andhisaudiencegrewlistless，he
becamedesperateandwouldbidalltheboysgood-by，announcing
thathewasgoingtotravelforawhile；goingtoNaples，to
Venice，toEgypt。Then，nextMonday，hewouldslipback，
consciousandnervouslysmiling；hissisterwasill，andhe
shouldhavetodeferhisvoyageuntilspring。
MatterswentsteadilyworsewithPaulatschool。Inthe
itchtolethisinstructorsknowhowheartilyhedespisedthem
andtheirhomilies，andhowthoroughlyhewasappreciated
elsewhere，hementionedonceortwicethathehadnotimetofool
withtheorems；adding——withatwitchoftheeyebrowsandatouch
ofthatnervousbravadowhichsoperplexedthem——thathewas
helpingthepeopledownatthestockcompany；theywereold
friendsofhis。
TheupshotofthematterwasthatthePrincipalwentto
Paul’sfather，andPaulwastakenoutofschoolandputtowork。
ThemanageratCarnegieHallwastoldtogetanotherusherinhis
stead；thedoorkeeperatthetheaterwaswarnednottoadmithim
tothehouse；andCharleyEdwardsremorsefullypromisedtheboy’s
fathernottoseehimagain。
Themembersofthestockcompanywerevastlyamusedwhen
someofPaul’sstoriesreachedthem——especiallythewomen。They
werehardworkingwomen，mostofthemsupportingindigenthusbands
orbrothers，andtheylaughedratherbitterlyathavingstirred
theboytosuchfervidandfloridinventions。Theyagreedwith
thefacultyandwithhisfatherthatPaul’swasabadcase。
TheeastboundtrainwasplowingthroughaJanuarysnowstorm；
thedulldawnwasbeginningtoshowgraywhentheenginewhistled
amileoutofNewark。Paulstartedupfromtheseatwherehehad
laincurledinuneasyslumber，rubbedthebreath-mistedwindow
glasswithhishand，andpeeredout。Thesnowwaswhirlingin
curlingeddiesabovethewhitebottomlands，andthedriftslay
alreadydeepinthefieldsandalongthefences，whilehereand
therethelongdeadgrassanddriedweedstalksprotrudedblack
aboveit。Lightsshonefromthescatteredhouses，andagangof
laborerswhostoodbesidethetrackwavedtheirlanterns。
Paulhadsleptverylittle，andhefeltgrimyanduncomfortable。
Hehadmadetheall-nightjourneyinadaycoach，partlybecausehe
wasashamed，dressedashewas，togointoaPullman，andpartly
becausehewasafraidofbeingseentherebysomePittsburgh
businessman，whomighthavenoticedhiminDenny&Carson’soffice。
Whenthewhistleawokehim，heclutchedquicklyathisbreast
pocket，glancingabouthimwithanuncertainsmile。Butthe
little，clay-bespatteredItalianswerestillsleeping，the
slatternlywomenacrosstheaislewereinopen-mouthedoblivion，
andeventhecrumby，cryingbabieswereforthenoncestilled。
Paulsettledbacktostrugglewithhisimpatienceasbesthecould。
WhenhearrivedattheJerseyCitystationhehurriedthroughhis
breakfast，manifestlyillateaseandkeepingasharpeyeabout
him。AfterhereachedtheTwenty-thirdStreetstation，he
consultedacabmanandhadhimselfdriventoamen’s-furnishings
establishmentthatwasjustopeningfortheday。Hespentupward
oftwohoursthere，buyingwithendlessreconsideringandgreat
care。Hisnewstreetsuitheputoninthefittingroom；thefrock
coatanddressclotheshehadbundledintothecabwithhislinen。
Thenhedrovetoahatter’sandashoehouse。Hisnexterrandwas
atTiffany’s，whereheselectedhissilverandanewscarfpin。He
wouldnotwaittohavehissilvermarked，hesaid。Lastly，he
stoppedatatrunkshoponBroadwayandhadhispurchasespacked
intovarioustravelingbags。
Itwasalittleafteroneo’clockwhenhedroveuptothe
Waldorf，andaftersettlingwiththecabman，wentintothe
office。HeregisteredfromWashington；saidhismotherand
fatherhadbeenabroad，andthathehadcomedowntoawaitthe
arrivaloftheirsteamer。Hetoldhisstoryplausiblyandhadno
trouble，sincehevolunteeredtopayfortheminadvance，in
engaginghisrooms；asleepingroom，sittingroom，andbath。
Notonce，butahundredtimes，Paulhadplannedthisentry
intoNewYork。HehadgoneovereverydetailofitwithCharley
Edwards，andinhisscrapbookathometherewerepagesof
descriptionaboutNewYorkhotels，cutfromtheSundaypapers。
Whenhewasshowntohissittingroomontheeighthfloorhesaw
ataglancethateverythingwasasitshouldbe；therewasbut
onedetailinhismentalpicturethattheplacedidnotrealize，
soherangforthebellboyandsenthimdownforflowers。He
movedaboutnervouslyuntiltheboyreturned，puttingawayhis
newlinenandfingeringitdelightedlyashedidso。Whenthe
flowerscameheputthemhastilyintowater，andthentumbled
intoahotbath。Presentlyhecameoutofhiswhitebathroom，
resplendentinhisnewsilkunderwear，andplayingwiththe
tasselsofhisredrobe。Thesnowwaswhirlingsofiercely
outsidehiswindowsthathecouldscarcelyseeacrossthestreet，
butwithintheairwasdeliciouslysoftandfragrant。Heputthe
violetsandjonquilsonthetaboretbesidethecouch，andthrew
himselfdown，withalongsigh，coveringhimselfwithaRoman
blanket。Hewasthoroughlytired；hehadbeeninsuchhaste，he
hadstooduptosuchastrain，coveredsomuchgroundinthelast
twenty-fourhours，thathewantedtothinkhowithadallcome
about。Lulledbythesoundofthewind，thewarmair，andthe
coolfragranceoftheflowers，hesankintodeep，drowsy
retrospection。
Ithadbeenwonderfullysimple；whentheyhadshuthimout
ofthetheaterandconcerthall，whentheyhadtakenawayhis
bone，thewholethingwasvirtuallydetermined。Therestwasa
merematterofopportunity。Theonlythingthatatallsurprised
himwashisowncourage-forherealizedwellenoughthathehad
alwaysbeentormentedbyfear，asortofapprehensivedreadthat，
oflateyears，asthemeshesofthelieshehadtoldclosedabout
him，hadbeenpullingthemusclesofhisbodytighterand
tighter。Untilnowhecouldnotrememberthetimewhenhehad
notbeendreadingsomething。Evenwhenhewasalittleboyit
wasalwaysthere——behindhim，orbefore，oroneitherside。
Therehadalwaysbeentheshadowedcorner，thedarkplaceinto
whichhedarednotlook，butfromwhichsomethingseemedalways
tobewatchinghim——andPaulhaddonethingsthatwerenotpretty
towatch，heknew。
Butnowhehadacurioussenseofrelief，asthoughhehad
atlastthrowndownthegauntlettothethinginthecorner。
Yetitwasbutadaysincehehadbeensulkinginthe
traces；butyesterdayafternoonthathehadbeensenttothebank
withDenny&Carson’sdeposit，asusual——butthistimehewas
instructedtoleavethebooktobebalanced。Therewasabovetwo
thousanddollarsinchecks，andnearlyathousandinthebank
noteswhichhehadtakenfromthebookandquietlytransferredto
hispocket。Atthebankhehadmadeoutanewdepositslip。His
nerveshadbeensteadyenoughtopermitofhisreturningtothe
office，wherehehadfinishedhisworkandaskedforafullday’s
holidaytomorrow，Saturday，givingaperfectlyreasonable
pretext。Thebankbook，beknew，wouldnotbereturnedbefore
MondayorTuesday，andhisfatherwouldbeoutoftownforthe
nextweek。Fromthetimeheslippedthebanknotesintohis
pocketuntilheboardedthenighttrainforNewYork，he
hadnotknownamoment’shesitation。Itwasnotthefirsttime
Paulhadsteeredthroughtreacherouswaters。
Howastonishinglyeasyithadallbeen；herehewas，the
thingdone；andthistimetherewouldbenoawakening，nofigure
atthetopofthestairs。Hewatchedthesnowflakeswhirlingby
hiswindowuntilhefellasleep。
Whenheawoke，itwasthreeo’clockintheafternoon。He
boundedupwithastart；halfofoneofhispreciousdaysgone
already！Hespentmorethananhourindressing，watchingevery
stageofhistoiletcarefullyinthemirror。Everythingwas
quiteperfect；hewasexactlythekindofboyhehadalways
wantedtobe。
WhenhewentdownstairsPaultookacarriageanddroveup
FifthAvenuetowardthePark。Thesnowhadsomewhatabated；
carriagesandtradesmen’swagonswerehurryingsoundlesslytoand
frointhewintertwilight；boysinwoolenmufflerswere
shovelingoffthedoorsteps；theavenuestagesmadefinespotsof
coloragainstthewhitestreet。Hereandthereonthecorners
werestands，withwholeflowergardensbloomingunderglass
cases，againstthesidesofwhichthesnowflakesstuckand
melted；violets，roses，carnations，liliesofthevalley——somehow
vastlymorelovelyandalluringthattheyblossomedthus
unnaturallyinthesnow。TheParkitselfwasawonderfulstage
winterpiece。
Whenhereturned，thepauseofthetwilighthadceasedand
thetuneofthestreetshadchanged。Thesnowwasfalling
faster，lightsstreamedfromthehotelsthatrearedtheirdozen
storiesfearlesslyupintothestorm，defyingtheragingAtlantic
winds。Along，blackstreamofcarriagespoureddowntheavenue，
intersectedhereandtherebyotherstreams，tending
horizontally。Therewereascoreofcabsabouttheentranceof
hishotel，andhisdriverhadtowait。Boysinliverywere
runninginandoutoftheawningstretchedacrossthesidewalk，
upanddowntheredvelvetcarpetlaidfromthedoortothe
street。Above，about，withinitallwastherumbleandroar，the
hurryandtossofthousandsofhumanbeingsashotforpleasure
ashimself，andoneverysideofhimtoweredtheglaring
affirmationoftheomnipotenceofwealth。
Theboysethisteethanddrewhisshoulderstogetherina
spasmofrealization；theplotofalldramas，thetextofall
romances，thenerve-stuffofallsensationswaswhirlingabout
himlikethesnowflakes。Heburntlikeafaggotinatempest。
WhenPaulwentdowntodinnerthemusicoftheorchestra
camefloatinguptheelevatorshafttogreethim。Hishead
whirledashesteppedintothethrongedcorridor，andhesank
backintooneofthechairsagainstthewalltogethisbreath。
Thelights，thechatter，theperfumes，thebewilderingmedleyof
color——hehad，foramoment，thefeelingofnotbeingableto
standit。Butonlyforamoment；thesewerehisownpeople，he
toldhimself。Hewentslowlyaboutthecorridors，throughthe
writingrooms，smokingrooms，receptionrooms，asthoughhewere
exploringthechambersofanenchantedpalace，builtandpeopled
forhimalone。
Whenhereachedthediningroomhesatdownatatableneara
window。Theflowers，thewhitelinen，themany-colored
wineglasses，thegaytoilettesofthewomen，thelowpoppingof
corks，theundulatingrepetitionsoftheBlueDanubefrom
theorchestra，allfloodedPaul’sdreamwithbewilderingradiance。
Whentheroseatetingeofhischampagnewasadded——thatcold，
precious，bubblingstuffthatcreamedandfoamedinhisglass——
Paulwonderedthattherewerehonestmenintheworldatall。
Thiswaswhatalltheworldwasfightingfor，hereflected；this
waswhatallthestrugglewasabout。Hedoubtedtherealityof
hispast。HadheeverknownaplacecalledCordeliaStreet，a
placewherefagged-lookingbusinessmengotontheearlycar；mere
rivetsinamachinetheyseemedtoPaul，——sickeningmen，with
combingsofchildren’shairalwayshangingtotheircoats，and
thesmellofcookingintheirclothes。CordeliaStreet——Ah，that
belongedtoanothertimeandcountry；hadhenotalwaysbeen
thus，hadhenotsatherenightafternight，fromasfarbackas
hecouldremember，lookingpensivelyoverjustsuchshimmering
texturesandslowlytwirlingthestemofaglasslikethisone
betweenhisthumbandmiddlefinger？Heratherthoughthehad。
Hewasnotintheleastabashedorlonely。Hehadno
especialdesiretomeetortoknowanyofthesepeople；all
hedemandedwastherighttolookonandconjecture，towatchthe
pageant。Themerestagepropertieswereallhecontendedfor。
Norwashelonelylaterintheevening，inhislodgeatthe
Metropolitan。Hewasnowentirelyridofhisnervousmisgivings，
ofhisforcedaggressiveness，oftheimperativedesiretoshow
himselfdifferentfromhissurroundings。Hefeltnowthathis
surroundingsexplainedhim。Nobodyquestionedthepurple；hehad
onlytowearitpassively。Hehadonlytoglancedownathis
attiretoreassurehimselfthathereitwouldbeimpossiblefor
anyonetohumiliatehim。
Hefoundithardtoleavehisbeautifulsittingroomtogo
tobedthatnight，andsatlongwatchingtheragingstormfrom
histurretwindow。Whenhewenttosleepitwaswiththelights
turnedoninhisbedroom；partlybecauseofhisoldtimidity，and
partlysothat，ifheshouldwakeinthenight，therewouldbeno
wretchedmomentofdoubt，nohorriblesuspicionofyellow
wallpaper，orofWashingtonandCalvinabovehisbed。
Sundaymorningthecitywaspracticallysnowbound。Paul
breakfastedlate，andintheafternoonhefellinwithawildSan
Franciscoboy，afreshmanatYale，whosaidhehadrundownfora
“littleflyer“overSunday。TheyoungmanofferedtoshowPaul
thenightsideofthetown，andthetwoboyswentouttogether
afterdinner，notreturningtothehoteluntilseveno’clockthe
nextmorning。Theyhadstartedoutintheconfidingwarmthofa
champagnefriendship，buttheirpartingintheelevatorwas
singularlycool。Thefreshmanpulledhimselftogethertomake
histrain，andPaulwenttobed。Heawokeattwoo’clockinthe
afternoon，verythirstyanddizzy，andrangforicewater，coffee，
andthePittsburghpapers。
Onthepartofthehotelmanagement，Paulexcitednosuspicion。
Therewasthistobesaidforhim，thatheworehisspoilswith
dignityandinnowaymadehimselfconspicuous。Evenunderthe
glowofhiswinehewasneverboisterous，thoughhefoundthestuff
likeamagician’swandforwonder-building。Hischiefgreediness
layinhisearsandeyes，andhisexcesseswerenotoffensiveones。
Hisdearestpleasureswerethegraywintertwilightsinhissitting
room；hisquietenjoymentofhisflowers，hisclothes，hiswide
divan，hiscigarette，andhissenseofpower。Hecouldnot
rememberatimewhenhehadfeltsoatpeacewithhimself。The
merereleasefromthenecessityofpettylying，lyingeverydayand
everyday，restoredhisself-respect。Hehadneverliedfor
pleasure，evenatschool；buttobenoticedandadmired，toassert
hisdifferencefromotherCordeliaStreetboys；andhefeltagood
dealmoremanly，morehonest，even，nowthathehadnoneedfor
boastfulpretensions，nowthathecould，ashisactorfriendsused
tosay，“dressthepart。“Itwascharacteristicthatremorsedid
notoccurtohim。Hisgoldendayswentbywithoutashadow，andhe
madeeachasperfectashecould。
OntheeighthdayafterhisarrivalinNewYorkhefoundthewhole
affairexploitedinthePittsburghpapers，exploitedwithawealth
ofdetailwhichindicatedthatlocalnewsofasensationalnature
wasatalowebb。ThefirmofDenny&Carsonannouncedthatthe
boy’sfatherhadrefundedthefullamountofthetheftandthat
theyhadnointentionofprosecuting。TheCumberlandministerhad
beeninterviewed，andexpressedhishopeofyetreclaimingthe
motherlesslad，andhisSabbath-schoolteacherdeclaredthatshe
wouldsparenoefforttothatend。Therumorhadreached
PittsburghthattheboyhadbeenseeninaNewYorkhotel，andhis
fatherhadgoneEasttofindhimandbringhimhome。
Paulhadjustcomeintodressfordinner；hesankintoa
chair，weaktotheknees，andclaspedhisheadinhishands。It
wastobeworsethanjail，even；thetepidwatersofCordelia
Streetweretocloseoverhimfinallyandforever。Thegray
monotonystretchedbeforehiminhopeless，unrelievedyears；
Sabbathschool，YoungPeople’sMeeting，theyellow-paperedroom，
thedampdishtowels；itallrushedbackuponhimwithasickening
vividness。Hehadtheoldfeelingthattheorchestrahad
suddenlystopped，thesinkingsensationthattheplaywasover。
Thesweatbrokeoutonhisface，andhesprangtohisfeet，
lookedabouthimwithhiswhite，conscioussmile，andwinkedat
himselfinthemirror，Withsomethingoftheoldchildishbelief
inmiracleswithwhichhehadsooftengonetoclass，allhis
lessonsunlearned，Pauldressedanddashedwhistlingdownthe
corridortotheelevator。
Hehadnosoonerenteredthediningroomandcaughtthe
measureofthemusicthanhisremembrancewaslightenedbyhis
oldelasticpowerofclaimingthemoment，mountingwithit，and
findingitall-sufficient。Theglareandglitterabouthim，the
merescenicaccessorieshadagain，andforthelasttime，their
oldpotency。Hewouldshowhimselfthathewasgame，hewould
finishthethingsplendidly。Hedoubted，morethanever，the
existenceofCordeliaStreet，andforthefirsttimehedrankhis
winerecklessly。Washenot，afterall，oneofthosefortunate
beingsborntothepurple，washenotstillhimselfandinhis
ownplace？HedrummedanervousaccompanimenttothePagliacci
musicandlookedabouthim，tellinghimselfoverandoverthatit
hadpaid。
Hereflecteddrowsily，totheswellofthemusicandthe
chillsweetnessofhiswine，thathemighthavedoneitmore
wisely。Hemighthavecaughtanoutboundsteamerandbeenwell
outoftheirclutchesbeforenow。Buttheothersideofthe
worldhadseemedtoofarawayandtoouncertainthen；hecould
nothavewaitedforit；hisneedhadbeentoosharp。Ifhehad
tochooseoveragain，hewoulddothesamethingtomorrow。He
lookedaffectionatelyaboutthediningroom，nowgildedwitha
softmist。Ah，ithadpaidindeed！
Paulwasawakenednextmorningbyapainfulthrobbinginhis
headandfeet。Hehadthrownhimselfacrossthebedwithout
undressing，andhadsleptwithhisshoeson。Hislimbsandhands
wereleadheavy，andhistongueandthroatwereparchedand
burnt。Therecameuponhimoneofthosefatefulattacksof
clearheadednessthatneveroccurredexceptwhenhewasphysically
exhaustedandhisnerveshungloose。Helaystill，closedhis
eyes，andletthetideofthingswashoverhim。
HisfatherwasinNewYork；“stoppingatsomejointor
other，“hetoldhimself。Thememoryofsuccessivesummersonthe
frontstoopfelluponhimlikeaweightofblackwater。Hehad
notahundreddollarsleft；andheknewnow，morethanever，that
moneywaseverything，thewallthatstoodbetweenallheloathed
andallhewanted。Thethingwaswindingitselfup；he
hadthoughtofthatonhisfirstgloriousdayinNewYork，and
hadevenprovidedawaytosnapthethread。Itlayonhis
dressingtablenow；hehadgotitoutlastnightwhenhecame
blindlyupfromdinner，buttheshinymetalhurthiseyes，andhe
dislikedthelooksofit。
Heroseandmovedaboutwithapainfuleffort，succumbingnowand
againtoattacksofnausea。Itwastheolddepressionexaggerated；
alltheworldhadbecomeCordeliaStreet。Yetsomehowhewasnot
afraidofanything，wasabsolutelycalm；perhapsbecausehehad
lookedintothedarkcorneratlastandknew。Itwasbadenough，
whathesawthere，butsomehownotsobadashislongfearofit
hadbeen。Hesaweverythingclearlynow。Hehadafeelingthathe
hadmadethebestofit，thathehadlivedthesortoflifehewas
meanttolive，andforhalfanhourhesatstaringattherevolver。
Buthetoldhimselfthatwasnottheway，sohewentdownstairsand
tookacabtotheferry。
WhenPaularrivedinNewarkhegotoffthetrainandtook
anothercab，directingthedrivertofollowthePennsylvania
tracksoutofthetown。Thesnowlayheavyontheroadwaysand
haddrifteddeepintheopenfields。Onlyhereandtherethe
deadgrassordriedweedstalksprojected，singularlyblack，
aboveit。Oncewellintothecountry，Pauldismissedthe
carriageandwalked，flounderingalongthetracks，hisminda
medleyofirrelevantthings。Heseemedtoholdinhisbrainan
actualpictureofeverythinghehadseenthatmorning。He
rememberedeveryfeatureofbothhisdrivers，ofthetoothless
oldwomanfromwhomhehadboughttheredflowersinhiscoat，
theagentfromwhomhehadgothisticket，andallofhisfellow
passengersontheferry。Hismind，unabletocopewithvital
mattersnearathand，workedfeverishlyanddeftlyatsortingand
groupingtheseimages。Theymadeforhimapartoftheugliness
oftheworld，oftheacheinhishead，andthebitterburningon
histongue。Hestoopedandputahandfulofsnowintohismouth
ashewalked，butthat，too，seemedhot。Whenhereacheda
littlehillside，wherethetracksranthroughacutsometwenty
feetbelowhim，hestoppedandsatdown。
Thecarnationsinhiscoatweredroopingwiththecold，he
noticed，theirredgloryallover。Itoccurredtohimthatall
theflowershehadseenintheglasscasesthatfirstnightmust
havegonethesameway，longbeforethis。Itwasonlyone
splendidbreaththeyhad，inspiteoftheirbravemockeryatthe
winteroutsidetheglass；anditwasalosinggameintheend，it
seemed，thisrevoltagainstthehomiliesbywhichtheworldis
run。Paultookoneoftheblossomscarefullyfromhiscoatand
scoopedalittleholeinthesnow，wherehecovereditup。Then
hedozedawhile，fromhisweakcondition，seeminglyinsensibleto
thecold。
Thesoundofanapproachingtrainawokehim，andhestarted
tohisfeet，rememberingonlyhisresolution，andafraidlesthe
shouldbetoolate。Hestoodwatchingtheapproaching
locomotive，histeethchattering，hislipsdrawnawayfromthem
inafrightenedsmile；onceortwiceheglancednervously
sidewise，asthoughhewerebeingwatched。Whentherightmoment
came，hejumped。Ashefell，thefollyofhishasteoccurredto
himwithmercilessclearness，thevastnessofwhathehadleft
undone。Thereflashedthroughhisbrain，clearerthanever
before，theblueofAdriaticwater，theyellowofAlgeriansands。
Hefeltsomethingstrikehischest，andthathisbodywas
beingthrownswiftlythroughtheair，onandon，immeasurablyfar
andfast，whilehislimbsweregentlyrelaxed。Then，becausethe
picture-makingmechanismwascrushed，thedisturbingvisions
flashedintoblack，andPauldroppedbackintotheimmensedesign
ofthings。
End