"I'm going away
for six months or perhaps longer."

Laploshka said nothing, but his eyes bulged a little and his cheeks took
on the mottled hues of an ethnographical map of the Balkan Peninsula.
That same day, at sundown, he died. "Failure of the heart's action," was
the doctor's verdict; but I, who knew better, knew that he died of grief.

There arose the problem of what to do with his two francs. To have
killed Laploshka was one thing; to have kept his beloved money would have
argued a callousness of feeling of which I am not capable. The ordinary
solution, of giving it to the poor, would by no means fit the present
situation, for nothing would have distressed the dead man more than such
a misuse of his property. On the other hand, the bestowal of two francs
on the rich was an operation which called for some tact. An easy way out
of the difficulty seemed, however, to present itself the following
Sunday, as I was wedged into the cosmopolitan crowd which filled the
side-aisle of one of the most popular Paris churches. A collecting-bag,
for "the poor of Monsieur le Cure," was buffeting its tortuous way across
the seemingly impenetrable human sea, and a German in front of me, who
evidently did not wish his appreciation of the magnificent music to be
marred by a suggestion of payment, made audible criticisms to his
companion on the claims of the said charity.

"They do not want money," he said; "they have too much money. They have
no poor. They are all pampered."

If that were really the case my way seemed clear. I dropped Laploshka's
two francs into the bag with a murmured blessing on the rich of Monsieur
le Cure.

Some three weeks later chance had taken me to Vienna, and I sat one
evening regaling myself in a humble but excellent little Gasthaus up in
the Wahringer quarter. The appointments were primitive, but the
Schnitzel, the beer, and the cheese could not have been improved on.
Good cheer brought good custom, and with the exception of one small table
near the door every place was occupied. Half-way through my meal I
happened to glance in the direction of that empty seat, and saw that it
was no longer empty. Poring over the bill of fare with the absorbed
scrutiny of one who seeks the cheapest among the cheap was Laploshka.
Once he looked across at me, with a comprehensive glance at my repast, as
though to say, "It is my two francs you are eating," and then looked
swiftly away. Evidently the poor of