He is deskbound,and has never,idly roaming in the gloaming, stumbled suddenly on Belvedere Tower in the Park,seen the ramparts rise sheer from the water of the pond,and the boys along the shore fishing for minnows,girls stretched out negligently on the shelves of the rock;he has never come suddenly on anything at all in New York as a loiterer,because he has had no times between trains. He has fished in Manhattan's wallet and dug out coins,but never listened to Manhattan's breathing,never awakened to its morning,never dropped off to sleep in its night.