The driver stands at the kerb as winter’s first snow gusts across Lower East Houston Street. Hunched shoulders, wet hats, and lit machines shove, jostle, and spark, here in this city, which has grown in a seeming instant from the Manhattan marsh.

Across the sidewalk slush, beside the dripping brooms and zinc tubs of a rundown druggists and ironmongers, a peeling sign announces Neville Tildsley and Partners, Architects—Ask Anytime for a Free Estimate, although there are no partners, and business clearly isn’t good.

“Wait here.”

The driver nods and slides his bulk back into the Packard, as, up the dark stairs, the architect is surprised by a late visitor to his office.