peregrination could I screw up courage to insinuate myself into the confidence of one of these magical intelligences.
I chanced for the first time to run across a Bowery bar-room, the "Pugilists' Haven," which, I had read in the papers, was the rendezvous of prize-fighters, gamblers, and gun-men [the most desperate type of gangster who will murder for pay]. The press advocated its obliteration. Curious that just because of this reputation, I was immediately insane to enter. For it was unholy ground. I reflected: "In this lowest of dives, they may accept me as a puella, although superficially a boy." Because all early influences, Ralph, had made me opine that taking the part of a girl was the very lowest thing a boy could descend to. I further pondered: "Between the luxurious mansion of pater familias and this dingy dive, give me the latter! For here alone I might be able to pass as a puella. In my own cultured, Christian circle, femaleimpersonation is castigated. But would not the attitude of the offscouring of our mundane sphere—the Pugilists' Haven gunmen—be different?"
And how crazy I was to insinuate myself with the adolescent gunmen, whom I had only read about! The very supposition of their presence just within that latticed door attracted me as a potent magnet snatches steel filings to itself. I passed and repassed the dive, continuously imagining what would transpire if I should penetrate this unholy of unholies, and having delectable visions of every species of flirtation with the demigods who made the saloon their rendezvous.
I finally emboldened myself to thrust aside a leaf of the latticed portal. It was my first appearance in-
