ty stomach, but the effort gave him a
headache, so he made himself a cup of coffee.

He walked the streets for a while with increasing restlessness; then, to
soothe his nerves, went to the club and listlessly read the magazines.
At noon he avoided his friends, but managed to eat a small luncheon. At
two o'clock he went out aimlessly and entered the nearest moving-picture
theater. At five he wandered back to the club and furtively asked the
telephone boy if there' had been any messages for him. There had not.

He permitted himself to be drawn into a riotous game of Kelly pool. Also
he permitted himself a drink or two.

During the evening, I regret to note, he got himself rather drunk and
went home in a taxicab. This was unusual with Peter and not successful.
It intensified his self-consciousness and his sorrow, made him even
gloomier. But it did help him to sleep.

He was awakened, just before nine o'clock on Sunday morning, by the
banging of a door. Then Hy, dusty, bedraggled, haggard of face, rushed
in and stared at him.

Peter decided it was a dream and rolled over.

Hy shook him. “For God's sake, Pete!” he cried. How hoarse he was!
“Where is she? Have you heard anything?”

Peter was coming awake.

“God, Pete, I'm crazy! Don't you understand--She wasn't on the boat.
Must have got the wrong one. Oh, it's awful!... I walked that deck
nearly all night--got off way up the river and came back to New York
with the milk cans. Something terrible may have happened.”

Peter sat up.

“It seems to me,” he said, rubbing his tousled head, “that I remember
something--last night--”

Hy waited, panting.

“Look on the desk. Didn't I bring up a note or something and lay it
there?”

Hy was on the desk like a panther. There was a note. He tore it open,
then thrust it into Peter's hands, crying hoarsely, “Read it!”--and
dropped, a limp, dirt-streaked wreck of a man, into the Morris chair.

This was the note:

“_Henry, I'm not going. I hope this reaches you in time. Please
understand--forgive if you can.