The  skies  had  been  gray  and  opaque  with
March  clouds,  but  were  now  brightening  as
the  sun  blazed  his  way  through  them.  And
similarly  into  Bart's  tired  and  embittered  heart
laughing  sunshine  seemed  suddenly  to  have
come.  It  was  the  smile  of  little  Rosa  Kress
96


The  Rise  of  Regan

that  already  had  steeled  his  mind  to  all  the
rigors  and  opposition  of  the  cold,  sardonic
world.  This  human  flower  of  the  East  Side,
innocent  and  sweet  in  the  midst  of  the  slums,
henceforth  should  be  the  inspiration  of  his
writings.  Had  she  not  told  him  with  her  own
scarlet  lips  that  she  believed  in  him?  Had
she  not  made  his  life  endurable  by  a  kind  act
—  a  few  simple  words?

Presently  Rosa  returned,  bearing  a  tray  on
which  were  a  bowl  of  steaming  soup,  a  cup  of
coffee,  and  half  a  loaf  of  swartz  bread  and
butter.  Bart  tackled  the  meal  without  cere
mony,  for  he  was  half  famished  —  thanking
Rosa  profusely  the  while  and  calling  her  an
angel.
An  hour  later  he  walked  down  to  Park  Row
with  his  manuscript,  and  dropped  into  a  cafe
where  he  was  sure  of  meeting  some  one  he
knew.  Yes,  there  was  Forbes  Andrews,  the
great  "free  lance,"  standing  treat  for  half  a
dozen  journalistic  parasites.  Bart  was  invited
to  drink.  He  joined  the  others,  managing  to
whisper  to  Andrews  that  he  wished  to  show
him  something.  Soon  Andrews  and  Bart  re
paired  to  an  alcove  where  they  could  be  confi
dential.  Bart  produced  his  roll  of  manu
script.
