us unexpectedly come upon appreciation of the
beauties and merits her mirror told her she possessed. When Mrs.
Schoenberg, her aunt, rose to go, she gave Feuerstein a chance to say
in a low aside: "My queen! To-morrow at eleven--at Bloomingdale's."
Her blush and smile told him she would be there.

All left except Feuerstein and a youth he had been watching out of the
corner of his eyes--young Dippel, son of the rich drug-store man.
Feuerstein saw that Dippel was on the verge of collapse from too much
drink. As he still had his eighty-five cents, he pressed Dippel to
drink and, by paying, induced him to add four glasses of beer to his
already top-heavy burden.

"Mus' go home," said Dippel at last, rising abruptly.

Feuerstein walked with him, taking his arm to steady him. "Let's have
one more," he said, drawing him into a saloon, gently pushing him to a
seat at a table and ordering whisky. After the third large drink,
Dippel became helpless and maudlin and began to overflow with generous
sentiments. "I love you, Finkelstern, ol' man," he declared tearfully.
"They say you're a dead beat, but wha' d'I care?"

"Finkelstern," affecting drunkenness, shed tears on Dippel's shoulder,
denied that he was a "beat" and swore that he loved Dippel like a
brother. "You're my frien'," he said. "I know you'd trust me to any
amount."

Dippel took from his trousers pocket a roll of bills several inches
thick. Feuerstein thrilled and his eyes grew eloquent as he noted tens
and twenties and at least one fifty. Slowly, and with exaggerated
care, Dippel drew off a ten. "There y'are, ol' dead beat," he said.
"I'll stake you a ten. Lots more where that came from--soda-fountain
counter's reg'lar gol' mine."

In taking off the ten, he dropped a twenty. It fluttered to the floor
and the soldier of fortune, the scorner of toil and toilers, slid his
foot over it as swiftly and naturally as a true aristocrat always
covers an opportunity to get something somebody else has earned. He
put the ten in his pocket, when Dippel's eyes closed he stooped and
retrieved the twenty with stealth--and skill. When the twenty was
hidden, and the small but typical operation in high finance was
complete, he shook Dippel. "I say, old man," he said, "hadn't you
better let me keep your money for you? I'm afraid you'll lose it."

Dippel slowly unclosed one eye and gave him a look of glassy cunning.
He again drew the roll from his pocket, and, claspi