ween himself and his fellows. He could do more by remaining a
man of like passions with other men than he could by casing himself in
a clerical "strait-jacket," as he called it. Having a little income of
his own, he set up on his own account in the dingiest part of that
dingy street called Huckleberry Street--the name, with all its
suggestions of fresh fields and pure air and liberty, is a dreary
mockery. Just where Greenfield Court--the dirtiest of New York
alleys--runs out of Huckleberry Street, he set up shop, to use his own
expression, He was a kind of independent lay clergyman, ministering to
the physical and spiritual wants of his neighbors, climbing to garrets
and penetrating to cellars, now talking to a woman who owned a candy
and gingerbread stall, and now helping to bury a drunken sailor. Such a
life for a scholar! But he always declared that digging out Greek and
Hebrew roots was not half so fascinating a work as digging out human
souls from the filth of Huckleberry Street.

Of course he did not want for money to carry on his operations. Charley
Vanderhuyn's investments brought large returns, and Charley knew how to
give. When Vail would begin a pathetic story, Vanderhuyn would draw out
his check book, and say: "How much shall it be, Harry?--never mind the
story. It's handy to have you to give away my money for me. I should
never take the trouble to see that it went to the people that need. One
dollar given by you is worth ten that I bestow on Tom, Dick, and Harry;
so I prefer to let Tom and Dick go without, and give it all to Harry."
In fact Vanderhuyn had been the prey of so many impostors that he
adopted the plan of sending all of his applicants to Vail, with a note
to him, which generally ran thus, "Please investigate." The tramps soon
ceased to trouble him, and then he took to intrusting to Vail each
month a sum equal to what he had been in the habit of giving away
loosely.

It was about the first of December, four years ago, that Harry Vail,
grown younger and fresher in two years of toil among the
poor--glorified he seemed by the tenderness of his sympathies and the
nobleness of his aims--it was four years ago that Harry came into
Charley Vanderhuyn's rooms for his regular monthly allotment. Vail
generally came in the evening, and Charley generally managed to be
disengaged for that evening. The two old friends whose paths diverged
so widely were fond of each other's company, and Vail declared that he