whose gaiety seemed as hard and thin as the light's blue flare. The tough faces of the waiters, the careless or determined cheerfulness of the women, the bored or excited look of the men of widely varying types, the perpetual drinking, all mixed together in a mirage of which pleasure was the least discoverable element. Some of the girls were very pretty, many of them were young, most of them well-dressed; and all tried to diffuse about themselves an atmosphere of reckless life, zest, enjoyment. But seen in the mass, all these various attempts resulted in one great effect of sham.
Alice's large eyes studied the scene intently. She was so much interested that it was difficult to get her away; yet she had a blank look, too.
"I thought it would have been more exciting," she said. "Don't they dance, or anything?"
The Turkish coffee place, with its dimmer lights and languid couples, she thought more interesting; but still her deer-like eyes looked vainly about for something she did not see; still she seemed perplexed. "Is this really life?" she seemed to ask. "Are these the haunts of vice? Are these people really the horrid people we've come out to see? And if so, why are they not more spectacular?"
From the Tenderloin they crossed to the Bowery, and walked slowly down the broad street, howling with the noise of the cars, bright with
