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“All this was enough to exasperate a steadier-nerved man than myself. It drove me, barely convalescent from mental collapse, to distraction.

“‘Here,’ I said, rudely, standing up, ‘you will not stop talking, so I must stop work. I’ll give it up and go home.’

“‘Oh, don’t let me disturb you,’ she said, pleadingly, as she, too, rose and approached me; ‘I will be quiet, I really will.’

“But I smelt the odor of liquor again now plainly from her breath, and I did not believe that she could stop talking if she tried. My resolution to go was made stronger.

“I went to a cabinet at the far end of the studio, to get some papers I wished to carry home with me. I returned quickly.

“But, in that short time, she had made changes; she had laid aside her hat and jacket when she came in, but now she stood before my mirror, shaking her hair down her back, and unbuttoning her collar. She smiled sweetly as she turned to me.

“Without a word, I caught up my hat, and fled.

“Down in the street, I looked at my watch. It was nearly midnight. It would take me until two in the morning to get home, where I would have to wake my wife, and relate the whole truth–or else tell her a lie as to why I was home a day ahead of time. I cared to do neither, and thought of a hotel. But, though I had a commutation ticket in my pocket, my money was now reduced to twenty-five cents–not enough to pay for a night’s lodging. There was not a soul left in that darkened building to whom I could appeal.

“Then I bethought me of a friend of many years’ standing, who lived on the top floor of a bachelor apartment not far away. With my grip in my hand, I hurried to his street, and was taken up by the elevator to the top floor, dimly lighted and bordered with doors.

“I knew his door, and knocked on it. There was no answer. I knocked again and again, but he did not respond. At last, in desperation, I rang for the elevator, and asked the attendant where my friend was. The boy did not know, but thought that the gentleman must be in, and asleep.

“However, I went down, and waited for a half-hour at the door, hoping that he had been out late and would soon appear. But he did not, and I went up again, resolved to batter down his door, if necessary. I began the attack at once, and, though I produced no effect on the door, I did upon my knuckles and the repose of other tenants of the floor. Doors opened, and tired, sleepy voices inquired the reason of the tumult. I made no answer, but banged away.

“‘Tom,’ I shouted, at last; ‘Tom, get up! Let me in! I want to see you; it’s important. Let me in!’

“A voice from a half-opened door informed me that if I did not stop the noise I should be pitched down the stairs. Still, I banged away at Tom’s door. There was no response, and I grew sick at heart.

“Then, just as I was about to go away, a door leading up to the attic opened, and Tom appeared, clad in street clothing–overcoat and all.

“‘What’s up?’ he inquired, with chattering teeth.

“‘Tom!’ I exclaimed, reaching his side at a bound, ‘I want to talk with you. Take me into your place. I’m in trouble. I want to sleep in your room with you. Take me in.’

“‘Come upstairs,’ he said, calmly.

“I followed him up to the bare and chilly attic, where he lighted a candle, and offered me a seat–on the floor. I told him my agonized tale of woe, but he did not show the sympathy I had anticipated; in fact, he laughed, softly and long.

“‘You can sleep with me, if you insist,’ he said. ‘I’ve a Persian rug that will almost cover us both, and I’ll share this pillow with you. Then, here’s a single portiere–not very warm–and two New York Heralds and a Sunday Times that will help out. But, in fact, I’d rather not entertain you to-night. I’d rather you’d go out and walk the street, or sleep in the Park. I couldn’t sleep a wink myself with you alongside of me, and neither could you.’