CHAPTER XXII  

  CHAPTER XXIII  

  CHAPTER XXIV  

  CHAPTER XXV  

  CHAPTER XXVI  

  CHAPTER XXVII  

  CHAPTER XXVIII  

  CHAPTER XXIX  

  CHAPTER XXX  

   

    

       CHAPTER I     

       The Street stretched away north and south in two lines of ancient houses that seemed to meet in the distance. The man found it infinitely inviting. It had the well-worn look of an old coat, shabby but comfortable. The thought of coming there to live pleased him. Surely here would be peace—long evenings in which to read, quiet nights in which to sleep and forget. It was an impression of home, really, that it gave. The man did not know that, or care particularly. He had been wandering about a long time—not in years, for he was less than thirty. But it seemed a very long time.     

       At the little house no one had seemed to think about references. He could have given one or two, of a sort. He had gone to considerable trouble to get them; and now, not to have them asked for—     

       There was a house across and a little way down the Street, with a card in the window that said: “Meals, twenty-five cents.” Evidently the midday meal was over; men who looked like clerks and small shopkeepers were hurrying away. The Nottingham curtains were pinned back, and just inside the window 

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