. But he had believed in the sincerity of its
prophet.

Yet he might have been prepared. Had not his father, wise and
experienced in the ways of the world, armed him with the formula:
"Krists is fakes"? His own adventures had corroborated this, and Miss
Bailey from the very first had made no attempt to conceal her connection
with that despised sect. Of course she was a fake. No more than half an
hour ago she had thrilled her audience with misinformation, and
manufactured biography all going to prove the nobleness--even the
expediency--of honesty; and now she was purring delightedly over the
fruits of Hymie's sleight-of-hand.

Isidore's was not a sentimental nature. Idealism was not his forte. And
yet he could not help wishing that, if only for the confusion of Hymie
and his father, Miss Bailey had proved to be "on the level."

Mr. Cohen _pere_ believed in nothing but the rights of man, though his
opinion of man was so low as to preclude his having any rights at all.
He was especially opprobrious toward all those in authority, and he
made no exception in the case of his son's teacher. "She belongs to the
machine," he would asseverate with warmth. "Run by the machine, paid by
the machine, a part of the machine. Policemen, firemen, teachers,
inspectors, they are all the same. All parts of the big machine. And
what is it chewing? Us. What does it live on? Us again. Don't you try to
fool me about that teacher of yours."

Isidore had been making no such attempt, and he repudiated the idea with
scorn. He was accustomed to vehement paternal outbreaks, for Mr. Cohen
was a popular orator in his social club, and he often rehearsed his
eloquence in the home circle. Not often, however, did Isidore understand
or remember the fervid periods. This attack upon Miss Bailey he did
remember, though he did not understand. To him a machine was a
sewing-machine, and his father, though he evidently meant something,
could not have meant to associate her with that most useful member of
the family.

"Just like all the rest of them," his father had said. "A grafter," and
now that Miss Blake had fallen from honesty, what proof was there that
Miss Bailey was not equally approachable?

And certainly Miss Blake played the game with the promptness and surety
of an old understanding. Influence or income are the counters in the
game, and she dealt both cheerily. Three days after the presentation of
the purse the post of Monitor of Supplies in Room