s since we left the restaurant. 'The boss likes these
jimcracks; he's got a lot o' thim up where he lives. I seen him pay
twinty dollars to a Jew-dago for one o' THIM.' And he pointed to my row
of miniatures.

"By this time I was face to face with the awful truth. There was
nothing in the vest-pocket, nor in the cup, and there was nothing in
the drawer. The only money I had was the two-dollar bill which had been
left over after paying Mrs. Jones. I spread it out before him and
looked him straight in the eye--fearlessly--that he might know I wasn't
telling him an untruth.

"'My good man,' I said in my kindest voice, 'I was mistaken. I find I
have no money. I have paid away every cent except these two dollars;
take this bill and let me come in to-morrow and pay the balance.'

"'Good man be damned!' he said. 'I don't want yer two dollars. I'll
take this and call it square.' Then he put my precious Cosway in his
pocket and without another word walked out of the room."

"But wouldn't they give it back to you when you went for it?" I blurted
out.

Peter leaned back in his chair and drummed on the arm with his fingers.

"To tell the truth, I have been ashamed to go. I suppose they will give
it back when I ask them. And every day I intended going and paying them
the money, and every day I shun the street as if a plague was there. I
will go some time, but not now. Please don't ask me."

"Have you seen none of them since?" inquired another of his visitors.

"Only the Bostonian. He walked up to me while I was having my lunch in
Nassau Street yesterday.

"'I came out better than you did,' he said. 'The pass was good. I used
it the next day. Just home from the Hub.'"

"Accomplice, maybe," remarked Peter's third visitor, "just fooling you
with that architect yarn."

"Buncoed that pass out of somebody else," suggested the second visitor.

"Perhaps," Peter continued. "I give it up. It's one of the things that
can never be explained. The Bostonian was polite, but he still thinks
me a cheat. He let me down as easy as he could, being a gentleman, but
I can never forget that he saw me come in with them and order the
dinner, and that then I tried to sneak out of paying for it. Oh, it's
dreadful! Dreadful!"

Peter settled in his seat until only the top of his red skull cap
showed above the back of his easy chair. For some minutes he did not
speak, then he said slowly, and as if talking to himself:

"Mean, mean people to serv