"Good-night, Mr. Arp."


She turned toward the lighted house. Through
the windows nearest her she could see Mamie,
seated in the familiar chair, following with happy
and tender eyes the figure of Eugene, who was
pacing up and down the room. The town was
deadly quiet: Ariel could hear the sound of footsteps
perhaps a block away. She went to the gate
and gazed a long time into the empty street,
watching the yellow grains of light, sieved through
the maples from the arc lights on the corner,
moving to and fro in the deep shadow as the lamp
swung slightly in the night air. Somewhere, not
far away, the peace was broken by the screams of
a "parlor organ," which honked and wailed in
pious agonies (the intention was hymnal),
interminably protracting each spasm. Presently a
woman's voice outdid the organ, a voice which
made vivid the picture of the woman who owned
it, and the ploughed forehead of her, above the
nose-glasses, when the "grace-notes" were proudly
given birth. "Rescue the Perishing" was the
startlingly appropriate selection, rendered with
inconceivable lingering upon each syllable: "Roos-
cyoo the Poor-oosh-oong!" At unexpected intervals
two male voices, evidently belonging to
men who had contracted the habit of holding tin in
their mouths, joined the lady in a thorough search