needed one evening in the month with Vanderhuyn; he liked to carry away
some of Charley's sunshine to the darkness of Huckleberry Street and
Greenfield Court. And Charley said that Harry brought more sunlight
than he took. I believe he was right. Charley, like all men who live
without a purpose, was growing less refined and charming than he had
been, his cheeks were just a trifle graver than those of the young
Charley had been. But he talked magnificently as ever. Vail said that
he himself was an explorer in a barbarous desert, and that Charles
Vanderhuyn was the one civilized man he could meet.

It is a curious thing that Vail had never urged Charley to a different
life from the self-indulgent one that he led, but it was a peculiarity
of Henry's that he was slow to attack a man directly. I have heard that
it was one great secret of his success among the poor, that he would
meet an intemperate man twenty times, perhaps, before he attacked his
vice. Then, when the man had ceased to stand guard, Vail would suddenly
find an entrance to him by an unwatched gate. It was remarkable, too,
that when he did seize on a man he never for an instant relaxed his
grasp. I have often looked at his aquiline nose, and wondered if it
were not an index to this eagle-like swoop at the right moment, and
this unwavering firmness of hold.

On this evening, about the first of December, four years ago, he sat in
Charley's cozy bedroom and listened to Vanderhuyn's stories of a life
antipodal to the life he was accustomed to see--for the antipodes do
not live round the world, but round the first street corner; he
listened and laughed at the graphic and eloquent and grotesque pictures
that Charley drew for him till nearly midnight, and then got ready to
go back to his home, among the noisy saloons of Huckleberry Street.
Charley drew out his check book and wrote and tore off the check, and
handed it to Vail.

"I want more, Charley, this time," said Vail in his quiet, earnest way,
with gray eyes fixed on his friend's blue ones.

"Got more widows without coal than usual, eh, old fellow? How much
shall it be? Double? Ask anything. I can't refuse the half of my
fortune to such a good angel as you are, Vail. I don't spend any money
that pays so well as what I give you. I go to the clubs and to parties.
I sit at the opera and listen to Signora Scracchioli, and say to
myself, 'Well, there's Vail using my money to help some poor devil in
trouble.' I tel