cheese. The wine, so Mrs. Gerard caused it to be understood, was Xeres,
of the 1815 vintage.

*****

Mrs. Hooven crossed the avenue. It was growing late. Without knowing
it, she had come to a part of the city that experienced beggars shunned.
There was nobody about. Block after block of residences stretched
away on either hand, lighted, full of people. But the sidewalks were
deserted.

"Mammy," whimpered Hilda. "I'm tired, carry me."

Using all her strength, Mrs. Hooven picked her up and moved on
aimlessly.

Then again that terrible cry, the cry of the hungry child appealing to
the helpless mother:

"Mammy, I'm hungry."

"Ach, Gott, leedle girl," exclaimed Mrs. Hooven, holding her close to
her shoulder, the tears starting from her eyes. "Ach, leedle tochter.
Doand, doand, doand. You praik my hairt. I cen't vind any subber. We got
noddings to eat, noddings, noddings."

"When do we have those bread'n milk again, Mammy?"

"To-morrow--soon--py-and-py, Hilda. I doand know what pecome oaf us now,
what pecome oaf my leedle babby."

She went on, holding Hilda against her shoulder with one arm as best she
might, one hand steadying herself against the fence railings along the
sidewalk. At last, a solitary pedestrian came into view, a young man
in a top hat and overcoat, walking rapidly. Mrs. Hooven held out a
quivering hand as he passed her.

"Say, say, den, Meest'r, blease hellup a boor womun."

The other hurried on.

*****

The fish course was grenadins of bass and small salmon, the latter
stuffed, and cooked in white wine and mushroom liquor.

"I have read your poem, of course, Mr. Presley," observed Mrs. Gerard.
"'The Toilers,' I mean. What a sermon you read us, you dreadful young
man. I felt that I ought at once to 'sell all that I have and give to
the poor.' Positively, it did stir me up. You may congratulate yourself
upon making at least one convert. Just because of that poem Mrs.
Cedarquist and I have started a movement to send a whole shipload of
wheat to the starving people in India. Now, you horrid reactionnaire,
are you satisfied?"

"I am very glad," murmured Presley.

"But I am afraid," observed Mrs. Cedarquist, "that we may be too late.
They are dying so fast, those poor people. By the time our ship reaches
India the famine may be all over."

"One need never be afraid of being 'too late' in the matter of helping
the destitute," answered Presley. "Unfortunately, they are always a
fixed qua