"I... I," I stammered, caught unawares, and seeking to invent something in order to hide my true station in life. 'I now work in a shoe-store over on 3rd Avenue."
"I suppose you intend doing the right thing by me tonight. Iam in hard luck. I just had three dollars stolen off me."
After a few minutes' conversation, we proceeded westward along 26th Street, bound for the dark and at night deserted quarter known as Hell's Kitchen, along the margin of the Hudson River. It is perhaps the most dangerous part of New York at night, but here we could be absolutely alone. Most of the district is covered with lumber yards, freight terminals, etc., and the very few persons who frequent those streets at night are likely to be ruffians and dockrats of the most vicious character.
Arrived within half a block of the Hudson River, we seated ourselves on the platform of a storehouse, and I began to kiss passionately my companion's face, hair, and hands, and even covered his clothing with kisses. While thus engaged, only one person passed, a man, apparently intoxicated, staggering along in the direction of the river and on the opposite side of the street. He did not appear to notice us and was soon lost in the darkness toward the river, whereupon my uneasiness in large part passed away. On such occasions as this—on the public street —I always had a mortal fear of being surprised and beaten to death, prejudice against androgynes being so great.
After the "intoxicated" man had passed out of sight, we were undisturbed for five minutes. During this inter-
