is one of my
lucky days," said he to himself. An aristocrat, a patrician, a
Hochwohlgeboren, if ever one was born.

At the Fourteenth-Street crossing he became conscious that a young man
was looking at him with respectful admiration and with the anxiety of
one who fears a distinguished acquaintance has forgotten him.
Feuerstein paused and in his grandest, most gracious manner, said:
"Ah! Mr. Hartmann--a glorious day!"

Young Hartmann flushed with pleasure and stammered, "Yes--a GLORIOUS
day!"

"It is lucky I met you," continued Feuerstein. "I had an appointment
at the Cafe Boulevard at four, and came hurrying away from my lodgings
with empty pockets--I am so absent-minded. Could you convenience me for
a few hours with five dollars? I'll repay you to-night--you will be at
Goerwitz's probably? I usually look in there after the theater."

Hartmann colored with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he said humbly, "I've got only a two-dollar bill. If it
would--"

Feuerstein looked annoyed. "Perhaps I can make that do. Thank
you--sorry to trouble you. I MUST be more careful."

The two dollars were transferred, Feuerstein gave Hartmann a
flourishing stage salute and strode grandly on. Before he had gone ten
yards he had forgotten Hartmann and had dismissed all financial
care--had he not enough to carry him through the day, even should he
meet no one who would pay for his dinner and his drinks? "Yes, it is a
day to back myself to win--fearlessly!"

The hedge at the Cafe Boulevard was green and the tables were in the
yard and on the balconies; but Feuerstein entered, seated himself in
one of the smoke-fogged reading-rooms, ordered a glass of beer, and
divided his attention between the Fliegende Blatter and the faces of
incoming men. After half an hour two men in an arriving group of three
nodded coldly to him. He waited until they were seated, then joined
them and proceeded to make himself agreeable to the one who had just
been introduced to him--young Horwitz, an assistant bookkeeper at a
department store in Twenty-third Street. But Horwitz had a "soul," and
the yearning of that secret soul was for the stage. Feuerstein did
Horwitz the honor of dining with him. At a quarter past seven, with
his two dollars intact, with a loan of one dollar added to it, and with
five of his original ten cents, he took himself away to the theater.
Afterward, by appointment, he met his new friend, and did him the honor
of accom