The San Francisco call., 1910-12-11

here. in all the world the world held
no winking wisdom about her: she was
free, and her spark of personality found
itself, her confused consciousness
cleared. With them she had no need
of pretense, for they faced each day
with elemental sophisticated simplicity.
They had no need of pretense, either,
and therefore had charity impossible
to the better ordered world. For
good or for evil they were cut
off from it's sincere largeness OF
good, it's clean friendliness, it's buoyant
virtues-they had to make their own
and live them.
OF late Nella had not been at Seda-
ini's. Wally Walters, the silent pianist
and rag composer, and Hammy Arnold,
who could always make her laugh with
his songs and contortions when he
chose to mimic some histrionic IDOL of
the day. were not now patrons of the
four-bit table dhote.
Arnold, in fact. had not slept at his
lodgings for a fortnight. He had been
let in on great coup at the Emeryville
raceS.where a secret clique put forward
an unknown horse in rich handicap.
getting a light impost on their mount
against which the unsuspecting public
bet heavily on a popular favorite. But
the long shot" galloped home against
a field that had no chance with him, and
the inside people made an enormous
profit Arnold won $4,000 on the affair
and lost $4,000 of 1T within the week.
recklessly backing other horses. But
1t made him great man among the
cigar store habitues. the juvenile
hangerson OF the form sheets. When j.
Ham Arnold strolled into the smoking
shop where Mamie Murasky supervised
the gambling machines and cast an eye
over the entries posted, anxious youths
craned TO see what horse and odds he
was considering.
He came back from the track a few
days later broke. The book makers had
his other 81 1000, besides $500 borrowed
from Ferreri. He now secured $50
from Fergy of the Maplewood on the
plea that his salary from the People
for eminent services rendered at the
capitol was due. About the cafes his
meteoric rise and fall at the track was
the subject of merriment. He met 1t
with serene smile, but he was weak
and overlaid with drink. sleeplessness
and throbbing humors. But he had for
gotten, he told himself; he looked back
on the brief, troubled rise of his better
self, the pain of it all, as now gro
tesque emotion; when the memory grew
too acute he drank and plunged deeper
in the life of the town. He had paid,
out or MS winnings, months rental
on Miss Granberry's house, had sent
two weeks groceries to the place, a
piece of gray dress goods for the old
lady and department store jdmble of
stuff to her proteges, but he had not
been near his rooms. They strangely
haunted him, the silence. the shadows,
the whip of the wind on the balcony.
the disarray of papers and books and
music scattered over the floor and
furniture. On his visit there he had
found small soied glove. stained. per-
fumed with the crushed stems of
flowers, among the stuff on his dresser
and staring at it, he closed the door
and left
But one reminder he had of Sylvia
and her story. About the town, day and
night. in the fight clubs and gambling
places, the cafes and across the bay at
the races the lavender pup followed
him. Ii was at his heels when it might
be, and, abject, cringing, grotesque in
its color and shambling uselessness it
waited for him. always waited in the
doorways and on curb. At first he re-
sented this reminder of the country up
in back, and of the last swapping of
the bond holding him to his better self,