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78 The Making of William Simmsstructure lay just beyond the dining-roomwindows. This was bad for the plaster;also, fortunately, for the rental. At firstthe rumble of wheels had interfered withWilliam's sleep, but after some exercise offancy he had managed to convert thesound into the distant murmur of a waterfall."As for the noise," he would say, "Ihave imagination and mommie has a deafear. So we do very nicely."On Saturday nights he escorted hismother to one of the small Italian restaurantsthat infested the neighborhood;preferably the kind that lurked behindiron gratings and required some manner ofidentifying signal to penetrate. Mommiewas not overfond of these dinings out.She would have preferred steak and onionsat home; but William said it took himtravelling." I can get a trip to Europe out of this !"said William, sniffing the romantic atmosphereof cigarette-smoke and garlic. Somommie smiled bravely, and surreptitiouslyswallowed digestive tablets tocounteract the cooking. For all that shedid not entirely understand him, mommie'sworld was exclusively William.At the conclusion of these gastronomicaldissipations, William would sallyforth upon further adventures. His particulardelight was to rove the Avenueupon the upper deck of an omnibus.He called it "taking passage." In hisqueer, half-joking, half-serious way heconverted the whole affair into the likenessof a sea voyage. "Come on," hewould say, grasping mommie's arm."We'll go cruising the Gold Coast!"Mommie went dutifully enough until thewinds of William's ocean began to accentuateher rheumatism. After that shebegged off, and while William cruised theGold Coast, mommie sat playing twohandedwhist with a neighborly widowfrom the floor below.It was a night in October when William'sromance began—a night madewonderful by the fact that to-morrowwould be Sunday, and that he need notconcern himself with intrusive realitiesfor thirty-six long and golden hours. Ashe mounted the steps of his swaying galleon,William thrilled with the sheer wonderof his youth and freedom. The workof the office lay hidden beyond the horizon.He was at liberty to pursue thegreater work of living, of moulding life toa perfection of enjoyment. He settleddown into a front seat, turned up hiscoat-collar, stuffed his hands into hispockets, and regarded the world throughthose fictitious glasses which were foreverupon his nose. The fact that the chill airhad driven his fellow passengers belowdecks served largely to increase his satisfaction.The 'bus lumbered hugely along thesmooth pavement, through the recurringglamour of the street-lamps, whose beamsfell upon the glistening asphalt like moonlightupon water. Under the blunt bowsof William's craft, occasional pedestriansdived and darted to safety."Porpoises!" said William.The tall spire of the cathedral loomedup to starboard. A great hotel, shininglike a house of stars, passed to port. Beyondit lay the park, like an island in thesea, its naked branches etched against thesky. But William turned his eyes to theCoast of Gold, to the castles of the inconceivablyrich, and in particular to onecastle that marked the architectural climaxof the whole.This was an enormous house of whitestone that occupied, at what cost onlyProvidence and the Sunday newspapersknew, an entire block in that pricelessdominion. It combined the aspects of amediaeval ruin with the rambling proclivitiesof a Florida hotel. Its two wings,surmounted by square towers, were thrustforward to meet the sidewalk line. Fromtower to tower stretched a Roman arch,beneath which a concrete driveway wanderedinto the dramatic vista of a formalgarden. Massive gates of iron guardedthe entrance. As a spectacle the greathouse was tremendous, overwhelming.It was the residence of John Parr, thebanker.To William Simms, banker's clerk, thehuge edifice seemed a veritable palace ofillusion. Unconsciously it had come tostand in the background of his mind, asthose painted castles stand upon thestage, casting their charm over the playerswho adventure in their shadow. Williamasked no more of it than to provide asetting for his dreams. He never passed