The barber laughed. Puffing at his pipe he walked down the street. "To
be sure! To be sure!" he said. "I would. Any man would. I like to sit
in the room for a spell in the evening talking to you but I would hate
to give up violin making and be bound all my life to serve you and
your purposes just the same."
In the hallway of their own house the barber spoke to McGregor as he
looked down the hallway to where the door of the black eyed girl's
room had just crept open. "You let women alone," he said; "when you
feel you can't stay away from them any longer you come and talk it
over with me."
McGregor nodded and went along the hallway to his own room. In the
darkness he stood by the window and looked down into the court. The
feeling of hidden power, the ability to rise above the mess into which
modern life had sunk that had come to him in the park, returned and he
walked nervously about. When finally he sat down upon a chair and
leaning forward put his head in his hands he felt like one who has
started on a long journey through a strange and dangerous country and
who has unexpectedly come upon a friend going the same way.
CHAPTER IV
The people of Chicago go home from their work at evening--drifting
they go in droves, hurrying along. It is a startling thing to look
closely at them.
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