On the table he laid them—bread and butter， cold meats，cakes， pies， pickles， oysters， a roasted chicken， a bottle ofmilk and one of red-hot tea.
“This is ridiculous，” said Rudolf， blusteringly， “to gowithout eating. You must quit making election bets ofthis kind. Supper is ready.” He helped her to a chair at thetable and asked： “Is there a cup for the tea？” “On the shelfby the window，” she answered. When he turned againwith the cup he saw her， with eyes shining rapturously，beginning upon a huge Dill pickle that she had rootedout from the paper bags with a woman’s unerring instinct.
He took it from her， laughingly， and poured the cup fullof milk. “Drink that first” he ordered， “and then you shallhave some tea， and then a chicken wing. If you are verygood you shall have a pickle to-morrow. And now， if you’llallow me to be your guest we’ll have supper.”
He drew up the other chair. The tea brightened the girl’seyes and brought back some of her colour. She began toeat with a sort of dainty ferocity like some starved wildanimal. She seemed to regard the young man’s presenceand the aid he had rendered her as a natural thing—not asthough she undervalued the conventions； but as one whosegreat stress gave her the right to put aside the artificial forthe human. But gradually， with the return of strength andcomfort， came also a sense of the little conventions thatbelong； and she began to tell him her little story. It wasone of a thousand such as the city yawns at every day—theshop girl’s story of insufficient wages， further reducedby “fines” that go to swell the store’s profits； of time lostthrough illness； and then of lost positions， lost hope，and—the knock of the adventurer upon the green door.
But to Rudolf the history sounded as big as the Iliad orthe crisis in “Junie’s Love Test.”
“To think of you going through all that，” he exclaimed.
“It was something fierce，” said the girl， solemnly.
“And you have no relatives or friends in the city？”
“None whatever.”
“I am all alone in the world， too，” said Rudolf， after apause.
“I am glad of that，” said the girl， promptly； and somehowit pleased the young man to hear that she approved of hisbereft condition.
Very suddenly her eyelids dropped and she sigheddeeply.
“I’m awfully sleepy，” she said， “and I feel so good.”
Then Rudolf rose and took his hat. “I’ll say good-night.
A long night’s sleep will be fine for you.”
He held out his hand， and she took it and said “goodnight.”
But her eyes asked a question so eloquently， sofrankly and pathetically that he answered it with words.
“Oh， I’m coming back to-morrow to see how you aregetting along. You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
Then， at the door， as though the way of his coming hadbeen so much less important than the fact that he hadcome， she asked： “How did you come to knock at my door？”
He looked at her for a moment， remembering the cards，and felt a sudden jealous pain. What if they had fallen intoother hands as adventurous as his？ Quickly he decidedthat she must never know the truth. He would never lether know that he was aware of the strange expedient towhich she had been driven by her great distress.
“One of our piano tuners lives in this house，” he said. “Iknocked at your door by mistake.”
The last thing he saw in the room before the green doorclosed was her smile.
At the head of the stairway he paused and lookedcuriously about him. And then he went along the hallwayto its other end； and， coming back， ascended to the floorabove and continued his puzzled explorations. Every doorthat he found in the house was painted green.
Wondering， he descended to the sidewalk. The fantasticAfrican was still there. Rudolf confronted him with histwo cards in his hand.
“Will you tell me why you gave me these cards and whatthey mean？” he asked.
In a broad， good-natured grin the negro exhibited asplendid advertisement of his master’s profession.
“Dar it is， boss，” he said， pointing down the street. “ButI ’spect you is a little late for de fust act.”
Looking the way he pointed Rudolf saw above theentrance to a theatre the blazing electric sign of its newplay， “The Green Door.”
“I’m informed dat it’s a fust-rate show， sah，” said thenegro. “De agent what represents it pussented me with adollar， sah， to distribute a few of his cards along with dedoctah’s. May I offer you one of de doctah’s cards， sah？”
At the corner of the block in which he lived Rudolfstopped for a glass of beer and a cigar. When he had comeout with his lighted weed he buttoned his coat， pushedback his hat and said， stoutly， to the lamp post on thecorner：
“All the same， I believe it was the hand of Fate that dopedout the way for me to find her.”
Which conclusion， under the circumstances， certainlyadmits Rudolf Steiner to the ranks of the true followers ofRomance and Adventure.
