g asked,
smiling down into the face of the shorter man. The Italian tossed the
future away with the back of his hand.

"I got nothin' do with that." His words were low, but very distinct.

Thereupon Richling laughed, leaning his cheek against the post.

"Must provide for the present," said Raphael Ristofalo. Richling dropped
his eyes in thought. The present! He had never been able to see that it
was the present which must be provided against, until, while he was
training his guns upon the future, the most primitive wants of the
present burst upon him right and left like whooping savages.

"Can you lend me dollar?" asked the Italian. "Give you back dollar an'
quarter to-morrow."

Richling gave a start and let go the post. "Why, Mr. Risto--falo,
I--I--, the fact is, I"--he shook his head--"I haven't much money."

"Dollar will start me," said the Italian, whose feet had not moved an
inch since he touched Richling's shoulder. "Be aw righ' to-morrow."

"You can't invest one dollar by itself," said the incredulous Richling.

"Yes. Return her to-morrow."

Richling swung his head from side to side as an expression of disrelish.
"I haven't been employed for some time."

"I goin' t'employ myself," said Ristofalo.

Richling laughed again. There was a faint betrayal of distress in his
voice as it fell upon the cunning ear of the Italian; but he laughed
too, very gently and innocently, and stood in his tracks.

"I wouldn't like to refuse a dollar to a man who needs it," said
Richling. He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair.
"I've seen the time when it was much easier to lend than it is just
now." He thrust his hand down into his pocket and stood gazing at the
sidewalk.

The Italian glanced at Richling askance, and with one sweep of the eye
from the softened crown of his hat to the slender, white bursted slit in
the outer side of either well-polished shoe, took in the beauty of his
face and a full understanding of his condition. His hair, somewhat dry,
had fallen upon his forehead. His fine, smooth skin was darkened by the
exposure of his daily wanderings. His cheek-bones, a trifle high,
asserted their place above the softly concave cheeks. His mouth was
closed and the lips were slightly compressed; the chin small, gracefully
turned, not weak,--not strong. His eyes were abstracted, deep, pensive.
His dress told much. The fine plaits of his shirt had sprung apart and
been neatly sewed together again. H