in a wretched little town far out on Long Island. On receiving his
appeal Paul seemed to wish to investigate for himself, possibly to
indulge in a little lofty romance or sentiment. At any rate he wanted me
to go along for the sake of companionship, so one dreary November
afternoon we went, saw the pantaloon, who did not impress me very much
even in his age and misery for he still had a few of his theatrical
manners and insincerities, and as we were coming away I said, "Paul, why
should you be the goat in every case?" for I had noted ever since I had
been in New York, which was several years then, that he was a victim of
many such importunities. If it was not the widow of a deceased friend
who needed a ton of coal or a sack of flour, or the reckless, headstrong
boy of parents too poor to save him from a term in jail or the
reformatory and who asked for fine-money or an appeal to higher powers
for clemency, or a wastrel actor or actress "down and out" and unable to
"get back to New York" and requiring his or her railroad fare wired
prepaid, it was the dead wastrel actor or actress who needed a coffin
and a decent form of burial.

"Well, you know how it is, Thee" (he nearly always addressed me thus),
"when you're old and sick. As long as you're up and around and have
money, everybody's your friend. But once you're down and out no one
wants to see you any more--see?" Almost amusingly he was always sad over
those who had once been prosperous but who were now old and forgotten.
Some of his silliest tender songs conveyed as much.

"Quite so," I complained, rather brashly, I suppose, "but why didn't he
save a little money when he had it? He made as much as you'll ever
make." The man had been a star. "He had plenty of it, didn't he? Why
should he come to you?"

"Well, you know how it is, Thee," he explained in the kindliest and most
apologetic way. "When you're young and healthy like that you don't
think. I know how it is; I'm that way myself. We all have a little of it
in us. I have; you have. And anyhow youth's the time to spend money if
you're to get any good of it, isn't it? Of course when you're old you
can't expect much, but still I always feel as though I'd like to help
some of these old people." His eyes at such times always seemed more
like those of a mother contemplating a sick or injured child than those
of a man contemplating life.

"But, Paul," I insisted on another occasion when he had just wired
twenty-five d