hansoms and, reaching the farther end of Madison Square, went on up the Avenue. At the crossings the arc lights were springing into life, purple in the twilight, spluttering and protesting. One by one the windows along the way became radiant. At a jeweller's Miles stopped to purchase a scarf-pin for Hunter. Coming out again, he paused to button his coat against the wet flakes, and his gaze, wandering to the next window, fixed itself upon an object that sent his heart jumping about inside of him as absurdly as one of the ridiculous tin toys. Striding to the window, he pressed his nose against the wet glass.
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The shop was a picture dealer's, and
the window, aglow with yellow light
held half a dozen framed canvases.
Upon one of them Miles gazed eagerly,
and the darkening street vanished,
