was but a step to beggary.

"What can a man do?" he said. "I can't starve."

His first application was in sunny Second Avenue. A well-dressed man
came leisurely strolling toward him out of Stuyvesant Park. Hurstwood
nerved himself and sidled near.

"Would you mind giving me ten cents?" he said, directly. "I'm in a
position where I must ask some one."

The man scarcely looked at him, fished in his vest pocket and took out a
dime.

"There you are," he said.

"Much obliged," said Hurstwood, softly, but the other paid no more
attention to him.

Satisfied with his success and yet ashamed of his situation, he decided
that he would only ask for twenty-five cents more, since that would be
sufficient. He strolled about sizing up people, but it was long before
just the right face and situation arrived. When he asked, he was
refused. Shocked by this result, he took an hour to recover and then
asked again. This time a nickel was given him. By the most watchful
effort he did get twenty cents more, but it was painful.

The next day he resorted to the same effort, experiencing a variety of
rebuffs and one or two generous receptions. At last it crossed his mind
that there was a science of faces, and that a man could pick the liberal
countenance if he tried.

It was no pleasure to him, however, this stopping of passers-by. He saw
one man taken up for it and now troubled lest he should be arrested.
Nevertheless, he went on, vaguely anticipating that indefinite something
which is always better.

It was with a sense of satisfaction, then, that he saw announced one
morning the return of the Casino Company, "with Miss Carrie Madenda."
He had thought of her often enough in days past. How successful she
was--how much money she must have! Even now, however, it took a severe
run of ill luck to decide him to appeal to her. He was truly hungry
before he said:

"I'll ask her. She won't refuse me a few dollars."

Accordingly, he headed for the Casino one afternoon, passing it several
times in an effort to locate the stage entrance. Then he sat in Bryant
Park, a block away, waiting. "She can't refuse to help me a little," he
kept saying to himself.

Beginning with half-past six, he hovered like a shadow about the
Thirty-ninth Street entrance, pretending always to be a hurrying
pedestrian and yet fearful lest he should miss his object. He was
slightly nervous, too, now that the eventful hour had arrived; but being
weak and hungry, h