While he was gazing, she turned and, looking at the remarkable company, sent her escort over.  He came, holding a bill in his fingers, all elegant and graceful.

“Here you are,” he said.

“Thanks,” said the captain, turning to the two remaining applicants.  “Now we have some for to-morrow night,” he added.

Therewith he lined up the last two and proceeded to the head, counting as he went.

“One hundred and thirty-seven,” he announced.  “Now, boys, line up.  Right dress there.  We won’t be much longer about this.  Steady, now.”

He placed himself at the head and called out “Forward.”  Hurstwood moved with the line.  Across Fifth Avenue, through Madison Square by the winding paths, east on Twenty-third Street, and down Third Avenue wound the long, serpentine company.  Midnight pedestrians and loiterers stopped and stared as the company passed.  Chatting policemen, at various corners, stared indifferently or nodded to the leader, whom they had seen before.  On Third Avenue they marched, a seemingly weary way, to Eighth Street, where there was a lodging house, closed, apparently, for the night.  They were expected, however.

Outside in the gloom they stood, while the leader parleyed within.  Then doors swung open and they were invited in with a “Steady, now.”

Some one was at the head showing rooms, so that there was no delay for keys.  Toiling up the creaky stairs, Hurstwood looked back and saw the captain, watching; the last one of the line being included in his broad solicitude.  Then he gathered his cloak about him and strolled out into the night.

“I can’t stand much of this,” said Hurstwood, whose legs ached him painfully, as he sat down upon the miserable bunk in the small, lightless chamber allotted to him.  “I’ve got to eat, or I’ll die.”

Chapter XLVI STIRRING TROUBLED WATERS

Playing in New York one evening on this her return, Carrie was putting the finishing touches to her toilet before leaving for the night, when a commotion near the stage door caught her ear.  It included a familiar voice.

“Never mind, now.  I want to see Miss Madenda.”

“You’ll have to send in your card.”

“Oh, come off!  Here.”

A half-dollar was passed over, and now a knock came at her dressing-room door.  Carrie opened it.

“Well, well!” said Drouet.  “I do swear!  Why, how are you?  I knew that was you the moment I saw you.”

Carrie fell back a pace, expecting a most embarrassing conversation.

“Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?  Well, you’re a dandy!  That’s all right, shake hands.”

Carrie put out her hand, smiling, if for nothing more than the man’s exuberant good-nature.  Though older, he was but slightly changed.  The same fine clothes, the same stocky body, the same rosy countenance.