aix, mister, and is yer
name Charley?"

"Why do you ask?" said Vanderhuyn.

"Because I thought, mebbe, you might be after him, the gentleman. It's
me husband, Pat Mcgroarty, as is a nurruss in the horsepital, and a
good one as iver ye seed, and it's Pat as has been a-tellin' me about
that blissed saint of a man, as how in his delairyum he kept a-talkin'
to Charley all the time, and Pat said as he seemed to have something on
his mind he wanted to say to Charley. An' whin I see yer face, sich a
gintleman's face as ye've got, too, I says shure that must be Charley."

"What did he say?" asked Vanderhuyn.

"Shure, and Pat said it wasn't much he could gether, for he was in a
awful delairyum, ye know, but he would keep a-sayin', 'Charley,
Charley, God and Huckleberry Street want you.' Pat says he'd say it so
awful as would make him shiver, that God and Huckleberry Street wanted
Charley. Shure it must a bin the delairyum, you know, that made him mix
up things loike, and put God and Huckleberry Street together, when its
more loike the divil would seem more proper to go with Huckleberry
Street, ye know. But if yer name's Charley, and yer loike the loikes of
him as is dead, shure Huckleberry Street is after wantin' of you, bad
enough."

"My name's Charley, but I'm not a bit like him, though, I'm sorry to
say, my good woman. Tell your husband to come and see me--there's my
number."

Charley went out, and the men at the door whispered, "That must be the
rich man as give him all the money." He took the last car uptown, and
he who had been two hours before in that brilliant company at the
Hasheesh was now one of ten people riding in a street car. Of his
fellow-passengers six were drunken men and two were low women of the
town; one of them had no bonnet, and lacked a penny of enough to pay
her fare, but the conductor mercifully let her ride, remarking to
Vanderhuyn, who stood on the platform, that "the poor devil has a hard
life any how." Said I not a minute ago, that the antipodes live not
around the world, but around the street corner? Antipodes ride in the
same street car.

As the car was passing Mott Street, a passenger, half drunk, came out,
turned his haggard face a moment toward the face of Charley Vanderhuyn,
and then, with an exclamation of startled recognition, leaped from the
car and hurried away in the darkness. It was not till the car had gone
three blocks farther that Vanderhuyn guessed, from the golden hair,
th