On the street he breathed deeply, standing as in a daze while the thunder of iron-rimmed wheels surrounded him.  He was cognizant principally of certain words humming in his brain:  The prince and she were not engaged!  The nobleman not returning to America in the fall!  Never coming back!

But that item in fine print in the newspaper he had in his pocket—­what did it mean?  Nothing, of course, beyond what it said; still—­

Some one bumped into Mr. Heatherbloom; whereupon he suddenly realized that he was standing on one of the busiest corners and had been making himself as conspicuous as possible.  Hastily he moved on.  To what destination?  He glanced toward a convenient saloon; it looked hospitable and inviting.  Then he remembered they—­man-hunters, in general—­always searched the saloons first for criminals.

He started toward a side street but paused, reasoning that he was more prominent on comparatively isolated thoroughfares than on the swarming ones.  A stream of women flowing into a big department store, exercised an odd attraction for him.  Safety lay, perhaps, among numbers; at least, for the time, until he could devise a course of action.  If he could conceive of one!  If—­

He must; he would.  Every nerve in his body seemed to respond.  Had he not embarked before this on desperate adventures; had he not fought in the face of overwhelming odds, and managed to hold his head up?  A peculiar little smile played around the corner of his thin lips; it was like the flash of light on a blade.  He joined the inflowing eddy.

Bargain day!  He was crushed and crumpled but found himself ultimately on a stool in the rear of the store.  No; he didn’t want any marked-down collars or cuffs; he conveyed an impression to the solicitous clerk of some one waiting for some one.  Patiently, uncomplainingly!  With an unseeing eye for the hurrying and scurrying myriads!  Time passed; he remained oblivious to the babble of voices.  Timon in the wilderness, Diogenes in his tub, could not have been mentally more isolated from annoying human consociation than was at the moment Mr. Heatherbloom, perched on a rickety stool amid a conglomeration of females struggling for lingerie.

Suddenly he stirred.  “Have you a book department?” he asked an employee.

“Straight across; last aisle to the left.”

Mr. Heatherbloom got up; his tread was slow; a somnambulistic gleam appeared in his eye.  Yet he was very much awake; he had never felt more keenly alert.  He reached the book section.

Did they have any Russian fiction?  Oh, yes; what kind did he want, nihilistic or psychological? The Fire and Sword kind, whatever that was; the second volume of the trilogy, if they had it in stock?  Sure they had; but had he read the first volume?  No; he didn’t want that; he would begin in the middle of the trilogy.  He always read trilogies that way.

The young lady in charge looked what she thought as she handed him the book.  He paid her; unfortunately it cost more than the popular novels of the day.  He rather gravely contemplated the few small bills he had left; the amount of his capital would not carry him very far, especially if unusual expenses should occur.  Miss Van Rolsen still owed him a little money but he didn’t see how he could collect that now.