ainfully snubbed. And he had never yet
been in a position where any one could snub him without instant
reprisals. In such circumstances he did not know exactly what he would
do. However, that bridge could be crossed or refused when he came to it.

CHAPTER VI

Such members of the Brashear household as chose to accommodate
themselves strictly to the hour could have eight o'clock breakfast in
the basement dining-room for the modest consideration of thirty cents;
thirty-five with special cream-jug. At these gatherings, usually
attended by half a dozen of the lodgers, matters of local interest were
weightily discussed; such as the progress of the subway excavations, the
establishment of a new Italian restaurant in 11th Street, or the calling
away of the fourth-floor-rear by the death of an uncle who would perhaps
leave him money. To this sedate assemblage descended one crisp December
morning young Wickert, clad in the natty outline of a new Bernholz suit,
and obviously swollen with tidings.

"Whaddya know about the latest?" he flung forth upon the coffee-scented
air.

"The latest" in young Wickert's compendium of speech might be the
garments adorning his trim person, the current song-hit of a vaudeville
to which he had recently contributed his critical attention, or some
tidbit of purely local gossip. Hainer, the plump and elderly accountant,
opined that Wickert had received an augmentation of salary, and got an
austere frown for his sally. Evidently Wickert deemed his news to be of
special import; he was quite bloated, conversationally. He now dallied
with it.

"Since when have you been taking in disguised millionaires, Mrs.
Brashear?"

The presiding genius of the house, divided between professional
resentment at even so remotely slurring an implication (for was not the
Grove Street house good enough for any millionaire, undisguised!) and
human curiosity, requested an explanation.

"I was in Sherry's restaurant last night," said the offhand Wickert.

"I didn't read about any fire there," said the jocose Hainer, pointing
his sally with a wink at Lambert, the art-student.

Wickert ignored the gibe. Such was the greatness of his tidings that he
could afford to.

"Our firm was giving a banquet to some buyers and big folks in the
trade. Private room upstairs; music, flowers, champagne by the case. We
do things in style when we do 'em. They sent me up after hours with an
important message to our Mr. Webler; h