"
Soft Shoes stared at him, blinking.
"At all events," he replied finally, "I find dignity impossible in
this position."
With this he let his body through the trap, hung for an instant, and
dropped the seven feet to the floor.
"There was a rat considered my ear with the air of a gourmet," he
continued, dusting his hands on his breeches. "I told him in the rat's
peculiar idiom that I was deadly poison, so he took himself off."
"Let's hear of this night's lechery!" insisted Wessel angrily.
Soft Shoes touched his thumb to his nose and wiggled the fingers
derisively at Wessel.
"Street gamin!" muttered Wessel.
"Have you any paper?" demanded Soft Shoes irrelevantly, and then
rudely added, "or can you write?"
"Why should I give you paper?"
"You wanted to hear of the night's entertainment. So you shall, an you
give me pen, ink, a sheaf of paper, and a room to myself."
Wessel hesitated.
"Get out!" he said finally.
"As you will. Yet you have missed a most intriguing story."
Wessel wavered--he was soft as taffy, that man--gave in. Soft Shoes
went into the adjoining room with the begrudged writing materials and
precisely closed the door. Wessel grunted and returned to "The Faerie
Queene"; so silence came once more upon the house.
III
Three o'clock went into four. The room paled, the dark outside was
shot through with damp and chill, and Wessel, cupping his brain in his
hands, bent low over his table, tracing through the pattern of knights
and fairies and the harrowing distresses of many girls.
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