he gout--he was the most talked-of, most envied man in the
place. In the cigar stores, poolrooms, and at the St. Nicholas he was
wont to regale masculine Blakeville with tales of high life in the
Tenderloin that caused them to fairly shiver from attacks of the
imagination, and subsequently to go home and tell their women folk
what a gay Lothario he was, with the result that the interest in the
erstwhile drug clerk spread to the other sex with such remarkable
unanimity that no bit of gossip was complete without him. Every one
affected his society, because every one wanted to hear what he had to
say of the gay world on Manhattan Island; the life behind the scenes
of the great theatres, the life in the million dollar cafes and
hotels, the life in the homes of fashionable New Yorkers,--with whom
he was on perfectly amiable terms,--the life in Wall Street. Some of
them wanted to know all about Old Trinity, others were interested in
the literary atmosphere of Gotham, while others preferred to hear
about the fashions. But the great majority hungered for the details of
convivial escapades--and he saw to it that they were amply satisfied.
Especially were they interested in stories concerning the genus
"broiler." Oh, he was really a devil of a fellow.

When the time came for him to begin his work as a solicitor for crayon
portraits his reputation was such that not only was he able to gain
admittance to every home visited, but he was allowed to remain and
chat as long as he pleased, sometimes obtaining an order, but always
being invited to call again after the lady of the house had had time
to talk it over with her husband.

Sometimes he would lie awake in his bed trying in vain to remember the
tales he had told and wondering if the people really believed him.
Then he was prone to contrast his fiction with the truth as he knew
it, and to blame himself for not having lived the brightly painted
life when he had the opportunity. He almost wept when he thought of
what he had missed. His imagination carried him so far that he cursed
his mistaken rectitude and longed for one lone and indelible
reminiscence which he could cherish as a real tribute to that
beautiful thing called vice!

In answer to all questions he announced that poor Nellie had been
advised to go West for her health. Of the real situation he said
nothing.

No day passed that did not bring with it the longing for a letter from
Nellie or a word from Phoebe. Down in hi