months of wandering found Isidore alive
bordered on the miraculous; that the end of these three months found him
in congenial employment was altogether a miracle. Yet these things had
occurred, and Isidore's long loneliness and self-imposed exile were
nearly over, when his daughter and Miss Aaronsohn melted their souls
together in the langorous solvent of "Silver Threads Among the Gold." On
the ensuing Saturday he was to receive his first week's wages as
janitor's assistant in a combination of restaurant, hall, and Masonic
lodge, much patronized by small and earnest clubs or societies, having
no permanent stamping ground of their own. On the Friday afternoon the
large hall was occupied by "The Cornelia Aid Society for the Instruction
of Ignorant Parents Among the Poor." It had been the happy idea of one
of the vice-presidents to hold the meeting within the citadel as it
were of poor and ignorant parenthood, so that the members coming
gingerly through unimagined streets and evidences of parenthood
appallingly ignorant, might derive--the vice-president was fond of the
vernacular--some idea of what the society was "up against." Automobiles,
victorias, disgusted footmen, and blasphemous chauffeurs thronged the
unaccustomed street, and the children of Israel thronged about them.

A genius for opportunity drew Giusseppi Pagamini and his new piano organ
to this sensational business opening, and the sweet strains of the piano
organ drew Rosie Rashnowsky after him. They had drawn her for many
blocks, and the meeting of the Cornelias was in full swing when her
kimona and hair ribbons came into play upon the sidewalk. She laid the
baby upon the steps, swept clean for her reception by Isidore the
conscientious, who had little idea--as he plied his broom and
scrubbing-brush earlier in the day--that he was strewing the couch of
his own small daughter's siesta.

Then to an audience composed of glorified gentlemen in silk hats and
top-boots, and the quieter but still sumptuous chauffeur livery, Rosie
threw herself into a very ecstasy of her art. Louder thrilled Giusseppi,
quicker flew the "fer-ladies-shoes," wilder waved ribbons and dressing
jacket. "Out o' sight," commented the footmen. "Bravissimo," ejaculated
the chauffeurs, and Rosie reached the climax of her career in a
pirouette which brought her, madly whirring, under the aristocratic
noses of a pair of chestnut cobs, whose terrified plunges would have
ended her gyrations fore