He dashed out the green door and down the stairs. In twentyminutes he was back again， kicking at the door with his toe forher to open it. With both arms he hugged an array of wares fromthe grocery and the restaurant. On the table he laid them—breadand butter， cold meats， cakes， pies， pickles， oysters， a roastedchicken， a bottle of milk and one of red-hot tea.
“This is ridiculous，” said Rudolf， blusteringly， “to go withouteating. You must quit making election bets of this kind. Supperis ready.” He helped her to a chair at the table and asked： “Isthere a cup for the tea？” “On the shelf by the window，” sheanswered. When he turned again with the cup he saw her， witheyes shining rapturously， beginning upon a huge Dill picklethat she had rooted out from the paper bags with a woman’sunerring instinct. He took it from her， laughingly， and pouredthe cup full of milk. “Drink that first，” he ordered， “and thenyou shall have some tea， and then a chicken wing. If you arevery good you shall have a pickle to-morrow. And now， ifYou’ll allow me to be your guest We’ll have supper.”
He drew up the other chair. The tea brightened the girl’s eyesand brought back some of her colour. She began to eat witha sort of dainty ferocity like some starved wild animal. Sheseemed to regard the young man’s presence and the aid he hadrendered her as a natural thing—not as though she undervaluedthe conventions； but as one whose great stress gave her the rightto put aside the artificial for the human. But gradually， with thereturn of strength and comfort， came also a sense of the littleconventions that belong； and she began to tell him her littlestory. It was one of a thousand such as the city yawns at everyday—the shop girl’s story of insufficient wages， further reducedby “fines” that go to swell the store’s profits； of time lost throughillness； and then of lost positions， lost hope， and—the knock ofthe adventurer upon the green door.
But to Rudolf the history sounded as big as the Iliad or thecrisis 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 a pause.
“I am glad of that，” said the girl， promptly； and somehow itpleased the young man to hear that she approved of his bereftcondition.
Very suddenly her eyelids dropped and she sighed deeply.
“I’m awfully sleepy，” she said， “and I feel so good.”
Then Rudolf rose and took his hat. “I’ll say good-night. Along night’s sleep will be fine for you.”
He held out his hand， and she took it and said “good-night.”
But her eyes asked a question so eloquently， so frankly andpathetically that he answered it with words.
“Oh， I’m coming back to-morrow to see how you are gettingalong. You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
Then， at the door， as though the way of his coming had beenso much less important than the fact that he had come， sheasked： “How did you come to knock at my door？”
He looked at her for a moment， remembering the cards， andfelt a sudden jealous pain. What if they had fallen into otherhands as adventurous as his？ Quickly he decided that she mustnever know the truth. He would never let her know that he wasaware of the strange expedient to which she had been drivenby 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 looked curiouslyabout him. And then he went along the hallway to its otherend； and， coming back， ascended to the floor above andcontinued his puzzled explorations. Every door that he foundin the house was painted green.
Wondering， he descended to the sidewalk. The fantasticAfrican was still there. Rudolf confronted him with his twocards 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 a splendidadvertisement of his master’s profession.
“Dar it is， boss，” he said， pointing down the street. “But I‘spect you is a little late for de fust act.”
Looking the way he pointed Rudolf saw above the entranceto a theatre the blazing electric sign of its new play， “TheGreen Door.”
“I’m informed dat it’s a fust-rate show， sah，” said the negro.
“De agent what represents it pussented me with a dollar， sah，to distribute a few of his cards along with de doctah’s. May Ioffer you one of de doctah’s cards， sah？”
At the corner of the block in which he lived Rudolf stoppedfor a glass of beer and a cigar. When he had come out withhis lighted weed he buttoned his coat， pushed back his hat andsaid， stoutly， to the lamp post on the corner：
“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， certainly admitsRudolf Steiner to the ranks of the true followers of Romanceand Adventure.