The noonday sun beat down on Park Row. Hurrying mortals, releasedfrom a thousand offices, congested the sidewalks, their thoughtsbusy with the vision of lunch. Up and down the canyon of NassauStreet the crowds moved more slowly. Candy-selling aliens jostlednewsboys, and huge dray-horses endeavoured to the best of theirability not to grind the citizenry beneath their hooves.

　　Eastward, pressing on to the City Hall, surged the usual densearmy of happy lovers on their way to buy marriage-licenses. Menpopped in and out of the subway entrances like rabbits. It was astirring, bustling scene, typical of this nerve-centre of NewYork's vast body.

　　Jimmy Crocker, standing in the doorway, watched the throngsenviously. There were men in that crowd who chewed gum, therewere men who wore white satin ties with imitation diamondstick-pins, there were men who, having smoked seven-tenths of acigar, were eating the remainder: but there was not one with whomhe would not at that moment willingly have exchanged identities.

　　For these men had jobs. And in his present frame of mind itseemed to him that no further ingredient was needed for therecipe of the ultimate human bliss.

　　The poet has said some very searching and unpleasant things aboutthe man "whose heart has ne'er within him burned as home hisfootsteps he has turned from wandering on some foreign strand,"but he might have excused Jimmy for feeling just then not so mucha warmth of heart as a cold and clammy sensation of dismay. Hewould have had to admit that the words "High though his titles,proud his name, boundless his wealth as wish can claim" did notapply to Jimmy Crocker. The latter may have been "concentred allon self," but his wealth consisted of one hundred andthirty-three dollars and forty cents and his name was so far frombeing proud that the mere sight of it in the files of the NewYork _Sunday Chronicle_, the record-room of which he had just beenvisiting, had made him consider the fact that he had changed itto Bayliss the most sensible act of his career.

　　The reason for Jimmy's lack of enthusiasm as he surveyed theportion of his native land visible from his doorway is not far toseek. The _Atlantic_ had docked on Saturday night, and Jimmy,having driven to an excellent hotel and engaged an expensive roomtherein, had left instructions at the desk that breakfast shouldbe served to him at ten o'clock and with it the Sunday issue ofthe _Chronicle_. Five years had passed since he had seen the dearold rag for which he had reported so many fires, murders,street-accidents, and weddings: and he looked forward to itsperusal as a formal taking _seisin_ of his long-neglected country.

　　Nothing could be more fitting and symbolic than that the firstmorning of his return to America should find him propped up inbed reading the good old _Chronicle_. Among his final meditationsas he dropped off to sleep was a gentle speculation as to who wasCity editor now and whether the comic supplement was stillfeaturing the sprightly adventures of the Doughnut family.

　　A wave of not unmanly sentiment passed over him on the followingmorning as he reached out for the paper. The sky-line of NewYork, seen as the boat comes up the bay, has its points, and therattle of the Elevated trains and the quaint odour of the Subwayextend a kindly welcome, but the thing that really convinces thereturned traveller that he is back on Manhattan Island is thefirst Sunday paper. Jimmy, like every one else, began by openingthe comic supplement: and as he scanned it a chilly discomfort,almost a premonition of evil, came upon him. The Doughnut Familywas no more. He knew that it was unreasonable of him to feel asif he had just been informed of the death of a dear friend, forPa Doughnut and his associates had been having their adventuresfive years before he had left the country, and even the toughestcomic supplementary hero rarely endures for a decade: butnevertheless the shadow did fall upon his morning optimism, andhe derived no pleasure whatever from the artificial rollickingsof a degraded creature called Old Pop Dill-Pickle who was offeredas a substitute.

　　But this, he was to discover almost immediately, was a triflingdisaster. It distressed him, but it did not affect his materialwelfare. Tragedy really began when he turned to the magazinesection. Scarcely had he started to glance at it when thisheadline struck him like a bullet:

　　PICCADILLY JIM AT IT AGAINAnd beneath it his own name.

　　Nothing is so capable of diversity as the emotion we feel onseeing our name unexpectedly in print. We may soar to the heightsor we may sink to the depths. Jimmy did the latter. A merecursory first inspection of the article revealed the fact that itwas no eulogy. With an unsparing hand the writer had muck-rakedhis eventful past, the text on which he hung his remarks beingthat ill-fated encounter with Lord Percy Whipple at the SixHundred Club. This the scribe had recounted at a length and witha boisterous vim which outdid even Bill Blake's effort in theLondon _Daily Sun_. Bill Blake had been handicapped byconsideration of space and the fact that he had turned in hiscopy at an advanced hour when the paper was almost made up. Thepresent writer was shackled by no restrictions. He had plenty ofroom to spread himself in, and he had spread himself. So liberalhad been the editor's views in the respect that, in addition tothe letter-press, the pages contained an unspeakably offensivepicture of a burly young man in an obviously advanced conditionof alcoholism raising his fist to strike a monocled youth inevening dress who had so little chin that Jimmy was surprisedthat he had ever been able to hit it. The only gleam ofconsolation that he could discover in this repellent drawing wasthe fact that the artist had treated Lord Percy even morescurvily than himself. Among other things, the second son of theDuke of Devizes was depicted as wearing a coronet--a thing whichwould have excited remark even in a London night-club.

　　Jimmy read the thing through in its entirety three times beforehe appreciated a _nuance_ which his disordered mind had at firstfailed to grasp--to wit, that this character-sketch of himselfwas no mere isolated outburst but apparently one of a series. Inseveral places the writer alluded unmistakeably to other theseson the same subject.

　　Jimmy's breakfast congealed on its tray, untouched. That boonwhich the gods so seldom bestow, of seeing ourselves as otherssee us, had been accorded to him in full measure. By the time hehad completed his third reading he was regarding himself in apurely objective fashion not unlike the attitude of a naturalisttowards some strange and loathesome manifestation of insect life.

　　So this was the sort of fellow he was! He wondered they had lethim in at a reputable hotel.

　　The rest of the day he passed in a state of such humility that hecould have wept when the waiters were civil to him. On the Mondaymorning he made his way to Park Row to read the files of the_Chronicle_--a morbid enterprise, akin to the eccentric behaviourof those priests of Baal who gashed themselves with knives or ofauthors who subscribe to press-clipping agencies.

　　He came upon another of the articles almost at once, in an issuenot a month old. Then there was a gap of several weeks, and hoperevived that things might not be as bad as he had feared--only tobe crushed by another trenchant screed. After that he set abouthis excavations methodically, resolved to know the worst. Heknew it in just under two hours. There it all was--his row withthe bookie, his bad behaviour at the political meeting, hisbreach-of-promise case. It was a complete biography.

　　And the name they called him. Piccadilly Jim! Ugh!

　　He went out into Park Row, and sought a quiet doorway where hecould brood upon these matters.

　　It was not immediately that the practical or financial aspect ofthe affair came to scourge him. For an appreciable time hesuffered in his self-esteem alone. It seemed to him that allthese bustling persons who passed knew him, that they werecasting sidelong glances at him and laughing derisively, thatthose who chewed gum chewed it sneeringly and that those who atetheir cigars ate them with thinly-veiled disapproval and scorn.

　　Then, the passage of time blunting sensitiveness, he found thatthere were other and weightier things to consider.

　　As far as he had had any connected plan of action in his suddencasting-off of the flesh-pots of London, he had determined assoon as possible after landing to report at the office of his oldpaper and apply for his ancient position. So little thought hadhe given to the minutiae of his future plans that it had notoccurred to him that he had anything to do but walk in, slap thegang on the back, and announce that he was ready to work. Work!--on the staff of a paper whose chief diversion appeared to be thesatirising of his escapades! Even had he possessed the moralcourage--or gall--to make the application, what good would it be?

　　He was a by-word in a world where he had once been a worthycitizen. What paper would trust Piccadilly Jim with anassignment? What paper would consider Piccadilly Jim even onspace rates? A chill dismay crept over him. He seemed to hear thegrave voice of Bayliss the butler speaking in his car as he hadspoken so short a while before at Paddington Station.

　　"Is it not a little rash, Mr. James?"Rash was the word. Here he stood, in a country that had nopossible use for him, a country where competition was keen andjobs for the unskilled infrequent. What on earth was there thathe could do?

　　Well, he could go home. . . . No, he couldn't. His pride revoltedat that solution. Prodigal Son stuff was all very well in itsway, but it lost its impressiveness if you turned up again athome two weeks after you had left. A decent interval among thehusks and swine was essential. Besides, there was his father toconsider. He might be a poor specimen of a fellow, as witness the_Sunday Chronicle_ _passim_, but he was not so poor as to comeslinking back to upset things for his father just when he haddone the only decent thing by removing himself. No, that was outof the question.

　　What remained? The air of New York is bracing and healthy, but aman cannot live on it. Obviously he must find a job. But whatjob?

　　What could he do?

　　A gnawing sensation in the region of the waistcoat answered thequestion. The solution--which it put forward was, it was true,but a temporary one, yet it appealed strongly to Jimmy. He hadfound it admirable at many crises. He would go and lunch, and itmight be that food would bring inspiration.

　　He moved from his doorway and crossed to the entrance of thesubway. He caught a timely express, and a few minutes lateremerged into the sunlight again at Grand Central. He made his waywestward along Forty-second Street to the hotel which he thoughtwould meet his needs. He had scarcely entered it when in a chairby the door he perceived Ann Chester, and at the sight of her allhis depression vanished and he was himself again.

　　"Why, how do you do, Mr. Bayliss? Are you lunching here?""Unless there is some other place that you would prefer," saidJimmy. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."Ann laughed. She was looking very delightful in something softand green.

　　"I'm not going to lunch with you. I'm waiting for Mr. Ralstoneand his sister. Do you remember him? He crossed over with us. Hischair was next to mine on the promenade deck."Jimmy was shocked. When he thought how narrowly she had escaped,poor girl, from lunching with that insufferable pill Teddy--orwas it Edgar?--he felt quite weak. Recovering himself, he spokefirmly.

　　"When were they to have met you?""At one o'clock.""It is now five past. You are certainly not going to wait anylonger. Come with me, and we will whistle for cabs.""Don't be absurd!""Come along. I want to talk to you about my future.""I shall certainly do nothing of the kind," said Ann, rising. Shewent with him to the door. "Teddy would never forgive me." Shegot into the cab. "It's only because you have appealed to me tohelp you discuss your future," she said, as they drove off.

　　"Nothing else would have induced me . . .""I know," said Jimmy. "I felt that I could rely on your womanlysympathy. Where shall we go?""Where do you want to go? Oh, I forget that you have never beenin New York before. By the way, what are your impressions of ourglorious country?""Most gratifying, if only I could get a job.""Tell him to drive to Delmonico's. It's just around the corner onForty-fourth Street.""There are some things round the corner, then?""That sounds cryptic. What do you mean.""You've forgotten our conversation that night on the ship. Yourefused to admit the existence of wonderful things just round thecorner. You said some very regrettable things that night. Aboutlove, if you remember.""You can't be going to talk about love at one o'clock in theafternoon! Talk about your future.""Love is inextricably mixed up with my future.""Not with your immediate future. I thought you said that you weretrying to get a job. Have you given up the idea of newspaperwork, then?""Absolutely.""Well, I'm rather glad."The cab drew up at the restaurant door, and the conversation wasinterrupted. When they were seated at their table and Jimmy hadgiven an order to the waiter of absolutely inexcusableextravagance, Ann returned to the topic.

　　"Well, now the thing is to find something for you to do."Jimmy looked round the restaurant with appreciative eyes. Thesummer exodus from New York was still several weeks distant, andthe place was full of prosperous-looking lunchers, not one ofwhom appeared to have a care or an unpaid bill in the world. Theatmosphere was redolent of substantial bank-balances. Solvencyshone from the closely shaven faces of the men and reflecteditself in the dresses of the women. Jimmy sighed.

　　"I suppose so," he said. "Though for choice I'd like to be one ofthe Idle Rich. To my mind the ideal profession is strolling intothe office and touching the old dad for another thousand."Ann was severe.

　　"You revolt me!" she said. "I never heard anything so thoroughlydisgraceful. You _need_ work!""One of these days," said Jimmy plaintively, "I shall be sittingby the roadside with my dinner-pail, and you will come by in yourlimousine, and I shall look up at you and say '_You_ hounded meinto this!' How will you feel then?""Very proud of myself.""In that case, there is no more to be said. I'd much rather hangabout and try to get adopted by a millionaire, but if you insiston my working--Waiter!""What do you want?" asked Ann.

　　"Will you get me a Classified Telephone Directory," said Jimmy.

　　"What for?" asked Ann.

　　"To look for a profession. There is nothing like beingmethodical."The waiter returned, bearing a red book. Jimmy thanked him andopened it at the A's.

　　"The boy, what will he become?" he said. He turned the pages.

　　"How about an Auditor? What do you think of that?""Do you think you could audit?""That I could not say till I had tr............