A PLASTER STATUETTE Fitzgerald's view from his club window afforded the same impersonal outlook as from a window in a car.

It was the two living currents, moving in opposite directions, each making toward a similar goal, only in a million different ways, that absorbed him.

Subconsciously he was always counting, counting, now by fives, now by tens, but invariably found new entertainment ere he reached the respectable three numerals of an even hundred.

Sometimes it was a silk hat which he followed till it became lost up the Avenue; and as often as not he would single out a waiting cabman and speculate on the quality of his fare; and other whimsies.
That this was such and such a woman, or that was such and such a man never led him into any of that gossip so common among club-men who are out of touch with the vital things in life.

Even when he espied a friend in this mysterious flow of souls, there was only a transient flash of recognition in his eyes.