THE FORTUNE HUNTER

By

DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS

Author of

The Deluge, The Social Secretary, The Plum Tree, etc. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I ENTER MR. FEURSTEIN II BRASS OUTSHINES GOLD III FORTUNE FAVORS THE IMPUDENT IV A BOLD DASH AND A DISASTER V A SENSITIVE SOUL SEEKS SALVE VI TRAGEDY IN TOMKINS SQUARE VII LOVE IN SEVERAL ASPECTS VIII A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS IX AN IDYL OF PLAIN PEOPLE X MR. FUERSTEIN IS CONSISTENT XI MR. FEURSTEIN'S CLIMAX XII EXIT MR. FUERSTEIN

THE FORTUNE HUNTER

I

ENTER MR. FEUERSTEIN

On an afternoon late in April Feuerstein left his boarding-house inEast Sixteenth Street, in the block just beyond the eastern gates ofStuyvesant Square, and paraded down Second Avenue. 

A romantic figure was Feuerstein, of the German Theater stock company. He was tall and slender, and had large, handsome features. His coatwas cut long over the shoulders and in at the waist to show his linesof strength and grace. He wore a pearl-gray soft hat with rakish brim, and it was set with suspicious carelessness upon bright blue, andseemed to blazon a fiery, sentimental nature. He strode along, intensely self-conscious, not in the way that causes awkwardness, butin the way that causes a swagger. One had only to glance at him toknow that he was offensive to many men and fascinating to many women. 

Not an article of his visible clothing had been paid for, and theten-cent piece in a pocket of his trousers was his total cash balance. But his heart was as light as the day. Had he not youth? Had he nothealth? Had he not looks to bewitch the women, brains to outwit themen? Feuerstein sniffed the delightful air and gazed round, like aking in the midst of cringing subjects. "I feel that this is one of mylucky days, " said he to himself. An aristocrat, a patrician, aHochwohlgeboren, if ever one was born. 

At the Fourteenth-Street crossing he became conscious that a young manwas looking at him with respectful admiration and with the anxiety ofone who fears a distinguished acquaintance has forgotten him. Feuerstein paused and in his grandest, most gracious manner, said:"Ah! Mr. Hartmann--a glorious day!"

Young Hartmann flushed with pleasure and stammered, "Yes--a GLORIOUSday!"

"It is lucky I met you, " continued Feuerstein. "I had an appointmentat the Cafe Boulevard at four, and came hurrying away from my lodgingswith empty pockets--I am so absent-minded. Could you convenience me fora few hours with five dollars? I'll repay you to-night--you will be atGoerwitz's probably? I usually look in there after the theater. "

Hartmann colored with embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry, " he said humbly, "I've got only a two-dollar bill. If itwould--"

Feuerstein looked annoyed. "Perhaps I can make that do. Thankyou--sorry to trouble you. I MUST be more careful. "

The two dollars were transferred, Feuerstein gave Hartmann aflourishing stage salute and strode grandly on. Before he had gone tenyards he had forgotten Hartmann and had dismissed all financialcare--had he not enough to carry him through the day, even should hemeet no one who would pay for his dinner and his drinks? "Yes, it is aday to back myself to win--fearlessly!"

The hedge at the Cafe Boulevard was green and the tables were in theyard and on the balconies; but Feuerstein entered, seated himself inone of the smoke-fogged reading-rooms, ordered a glass of beer, anddivided his attention between the Fliegende Blatter and the faces ofincoming men. After half an hour two men in an arriving group of threenodded coldly to him. He waited until they were seated, then joinedthem and proceeded to make himself agreeable to the one who had justbeen introduced to him--young Horwitz, an assistant bookkeeper at adepartment store in Twenty-third Street. But Horwitz had a "soul, " andthe yearning of that secret soul was for the stage. Feuerstein didHorwitz the honor of dining with him. At a quarter past seven, withhis two dollars intact, with a loan of one dollar added to it, and withfive of his original ten cents, he took himself away to the theater. Afterward, by appointment, he met his new friend, and did him the honorof accompanying him to the Young German Shooters' Society ball atTerrace Garden. 

It was one of those simple, entirely and genuinely gay entertainmentsthat assemble the society of the real New York--the three and a halfmillions who work and play hard and live plainly and without pretense, whose ideals center about the hearth, and whose aspirations are toretire with a competence early in the afternoon of life, thenceforthplacidly to assist in the prosperity of their children and to havetheir youth over again in their grandchildren. 

Feuerstein's gaze wandered from face to face among the young women, topause at last upon a dark, handsome, strong-looking daughter of thepeople. She had coal-black hair that curled about a low forehead. Hereyes were dreamy and stormy. Her mouth was sweet, if a triflepetulant. "And who is she?" he asked. 

"That's Hilda Brauner, " replied Horwitz. "Her father has adelicatessen in Avenue A. He's very rich--owns three flat-houses. They must bring him in at least ten thousand net, not to speak of whathe makes in the store. They're fine people, those Brauners; none niceranywhere. "

"A beautiful creature, " said Feuerstein, who was feeling like a princewho, for reasons of sordid necessity, had condescended to a party inFifth Avenue. "I'd like to meet her. "

"Certainly, " replied Horwitz. "I'll introduce her to you. "

She blushed and was painfully ill at ease in presence of his grand andlofty courtesy--she who had been used to the offhand manners whichprevail wherever there is equality of the sexes and the custom of franksociability. And when he asked her to dance she would have refused hadshe been able to speak at all. But he bore her off and soon made herforget herself in the happiness of being drifted in his strong arm uponthe rhythmic billows of the waltz. At the end he led her to a seat andfell to complimenting her--his eyes eloquent, his voice, it seemed toher, as entrancing as the waltz music. When he spoke in German it waswithout the harsh sputtering and growling, the slovenly slurring andclipping to which she had been accustomed. She could answer only withmonosyllables or appreciative looks, though usually she was a greattalker and, as she had much common sense and not a little wit, a goodtalker. But her awe of him, which increased when she learned that hewas on the stage, did not prevent her from getting the two mainimpressions he wished to make upon her--that Mr. Feuerstein was a verygrand person indeed, and that he was condescending to be profoundlysmitten of her charms. 

She was the "catch" of Avenue A, taking prospects and looks together, and the men she knew had let her rule them. In Mr. Feuerstein she hadfound what she had been unconsciously seeking with the Idealismus ofgenuine youth--a man who compelled her to look far up to him, a manwho seemed to her to embody those vague dreams of a life grand andbeautiful, away off somewhere, which are dreamed by all young people, and by not a few older ones, who have less excuse for not knowing wherehappiness is to be found. He spent the whole evening with her; Mrs. Liebers and Sophie, with whom she had come, did not dare interrupt herpleasure, but had to stay, yawning and cross, until the last strain ofHome, Sweet Home. 

At parting he pressed her hand. "I have been happy, " he murmured in atone which said, "Mine is a sorrow-shadowed soul that has rarely tastedhappiness. "

She glanced up at him with ingenuous feeling in her eyes and managed tostammer: "I hope we'll meet again. "

"Couldn't I come down to see you Sunday evening?"

"There's a concert in the Square. If you're there I might see you. "

"Until Sunday night, " he said, and made her feel that the threeintervening days would be for him three eternities. 

She thought of him all the way home in the car, and until she fellasleep. His sonorous name was in her mind when she awoke in themorning; and, as she stood in the store that day, waiting on thecustomers, she looked often at the door, and, with thechildhood-surviving faith of youth in the improbable and impossible, hoped that he would appear. For the first time she was definitelydiscontented with her lot, was definitely fascinated by the idea thatthere might be something higher and finer than the simple occupationsand simple enjoyments which had filled her life thus far. 

In the evening after supper her father and mother left her and herbrother August in charge, and took their usual stroll for exercise andfor the profound delight of a look at their flat-houses--thosereminders of many years of toil and thrift. They had spent their youth, she as cook, he as helper, in one of New York's earliest delicatessenshops. When they had saved three thousand dollars they married and putinto effect the plan which had been their chief subject of conversationevery day and every evening for ten years--they opened the"delicatessen" in Avenue A, near Second Street. They lived in two backrooms; they toiled early and late for twenty-three contented, cheerfulyears--she in the shop when she was not doing the housework or caringfor the babies, he in the great clean cellar, where the cooking andcabbage-cutting and pickling and spicing were done. And now, owners ofthree houses that brought in eleven thousand a year clear, they wereabout to retire. They had fixed on a place in the Bronx, in the EastSide, of course, with a big garden, where every kind of gay flower andgood vegetable could be grown, and an arbor where there could bepinochle, beer and coffee on Sunday afternoons. In a sentence, theywere honorable and exemplary members of that great mass of humanitywhich has the custody of the present and the future of the race--thosewho live by the sweat of their own brows or their own brains, and traintheir children to do likewise, those who maintain the true ideals ofhappiness and progress, those from whom spring all the workers and allthe leaders of thought and action. 

They walked slowly up the Avenue, speaking to their neighbors, pausingnow and then for a joke or to pat a baby on the head, until they werewithin two blocks of Tompkins Square. They stopped before a five-storytenement, evidently the dwelling-place of substantial, intelligent, self-respecting artisans and their families, leading the natural lifeof busy usefulness. In its first floor was a delicatessen--the signread "Schwartz and Heilig. " Paul Brauner pointed with his long-stemmedpipe at the one show-window. 

"Fine, isn't it? Beautiful!" he exclaimed in Low-German--they andalmost all their friends spoke Low-German, and used English only whenthey could not avoid it. 

The window certainly was well arranged. Only a merchant who knew hisbusiness thoroughly--both his wares and his customers--could have thusdisplayed cooked chickens, hams and tongues, the imported sausages andfish, the jelly-inclosed paste of chicken livers, the bottles and jarsof pickled or spiced meats and vegetables and fruits. The spectaclewas adroitly arranged to move the hungry to yearning, the filled toregret, and the dyspeptic to rage and remorse. And behind theshow-window lay a shop whose shelves, counters and floor were clean astoil could make and keep them, and whose air was saturated with themost delicious odors. 

Mrs. Brauner nodded. "Heilig was up at half-past four this morning, "she said. "He cleans out every morning and he moves everything twice aweek. " She had a round, honest face that was an inspiring study insimplicity, sense and sentiment. 

"What a worker!" was her husband's comment. "So unlike most of theyoung men nowadays. If August were only like him!"

"You'd think Heilig was a drone if he were your son, " replied Mrs. Brauner. She knew that if any one else had dared thus to attack theirboy, his father would have been growling and snapping like an angrybear. 

"That's right!" he retorted with mock scorn. "Defend your children!You'll be excusing Hilda for putting off Heilig next. "

"She'll marry him--give her time, " said Mrs. Brauner. "She's romantic, but she's sensible, too--why, she was born to make a good wife to ahard-working man. Where's there another woman that knows the businessas she does? You admit on her birthdays that she's the only realhelper you ever had. "

"Except you, " said her husband. 

"Never mind me. " Mrs. Brauner pretended to disdain the compliment. 

Brauner understood, however. "We have had the best, you and I, " saidhe. 

"Arbeit und Liebe und Heim. Nicht wahr?" Otto Heilig appeared in hisdoorway and greeted them awkwardly. Nor did their cordiality lessenhis embarrassment. His pink and white skin was rosy red and his frankblue-gray eyes shifted uneasily. But he was smiling with eagerfriendliness, showing even, sound, white teeth. 

"You are coming to see us to-morrow?" asked Mrs. Brauner--he alwayscalled on Sunday afternoons and stayed until five, when he had to openshop for the Sunday supper rush. 

"Why--that is--not exactly--no, " he stammered. Hilda had told him notto come, but he knew that if he admitted it to her parents they wouldbe severe with her. He didn't like anybody to be severe with Hilda, and he felt that their way of helping his courtship was not suited tothe modern ideas. "They make her hate me, " he often muttered. But ifhe resented it he would offend them and Hilda too; if he acquiesced heencouraged them and added to Hilda's exasperation. 

Mrs. Brauner knew at once that Hilda was in some way the cause of thebreak in the custom. "Oh, you must come, " she said. "We'd feelstrange all week if we didn't see you on Sunday. "

"Yes--I must have my cards, " insisted Brauner. He and Otto alwaysplayed pinochle; Otto's eyes most of the time and his thoughts all thetime were on Hilda, in the corner, at the zither, playing the maddest, most romantic music; her father therefore usually won, poor at the gamethough he was. It made him cross to lose, and Otto sometimes defeatedhis own luck deliberately when love refused to do it for him. 

"Very well, then--that is--if I can--I'll try to come. "

Several customers pushed past him into his shop and he had to rejoinhis partner, Schwartz, behind the counters. Brauner and his wifewalked slowly home--it was late and there would be more business thanHilda and August could attend to. As they crossed Third StreetBrauner said: "Hilda must go and tell him to come. This is her doing. "

"But she can't do that, " objected Mrs. Brauner. "She'd say it wasthrowing herself at his head. "

"Not if I send her?" Brauner frowned with a seeming of severity. "Notif I, her father, send her--for two chickens, as we're out?" Then helaughed. His fierceness was the family joke when Hilda was small sheused to say, "Now, get mad, father, and make little Hilda laugh!"

Hilda was behind the counter, a customer watching with fascinated eyesthe graceful, swift movements of her arms and hands as she tied up abundle. Her sleeves were rolled to her dimpled elbows, and her armswere round and strong and white, and her skin was fine and smooth. Hershoulders were wide, but not square; her hips were narrow, her wrists, her hands, her head, small. She looked healthy and vigorous and usefulas well as beautiful. 

When the customers had gone Brauner said: "Go up to Schwartz andHeilig, daughter, and ask them for two two-pound chickens. And tellOtto Heilig you'll be glad to see him to-morrow. "

"But we don't need the chickens, now. We--" Hilda's brow contractedand her chin came out. 

"Do as I tell you, " said her father. 

"MY children shall not sink to the disrespect of these days. "

"But I shan't be here to-morrow! I've made another engagement. "

"You SHALL be here to-morrow! If you don't wish young Heilig here foryour own sake, you must show consideration for your parents. Are theyto be deprived of their Sunday afternoon? You have never done thisbefore, Hilda. You have never forgotten us before. "

Hilda hung her head; after a moment she unrolled her sleeves, laidaside her apron and set out. She was repentant toward her father, butshe felt that Otto was to blame. She determined to make him suffer forit--how easy it was to make him suffer, and how pleasant to feel thatthis big fellow was her slave! She went straight up to him. "So youcomplained of me, did you?" she said scornfully, though she knew wellthat he had not, that he could not have done anything that even seemedmean. 

He flushed. "No--no, " he stammered. "No, indeed, Hilda. Don't think--"

She looked contempt. "Well, you've won. Come down Sunday afternoon. I suppose I'll have to endure it. "

"Hilda, you're wrong. I will NOT come!" He was angry, but his mindwas confused. He loved her with all the strength of his simple, straightforward nature. Therefore he appeared at his worst beforeher--usually either incoherent or dumb. It was not surprising thatwhenever it was suggested that only a superior man could get on so wellas he did, she always answered: "He works twice as hard as any oneelse, and you don't need much brains if you'll work hard. "

She now cut him short. "If you don't come I'll have to suffer for it, "she said. "You MUST come! I'll not be glad to see you. But if youdon't come I'll never speak to you again!" And she left him and wentto the other counter and ordered the chickens from Schwartz. 

Heilig was wretched, --another of those hideous dilemmas over which hehad been stumbling like a drunken man in a dark room full of furnitureever since he let his mother go to Mrs. Brauner and ask her for Hilda. He watched Hilda's splendid back, and fumbled about, upsetting bottlesand rattling dishes, until she went out with a glance of jeering scorn. Schwartz burst out laughing. 

"Anybody could tell you are in love, " he said. "Be stiff with her, Otto, and you'll get her all right. It don't do to let a woman seethat you care about her. The worse you treat the women the better theylike it. When they used to tell my father about some woman being crazyover a man, he always used to say, 'What sort of a scoundrel is he?'That was good sense. "

Otto made no reply. No doubt these maxims were sound and wise; but howwas he to apply them? How could he pretend indifference when at sightof her he could open his jaws only enough to chatter them, could loosenhis tongue only enough to roll it thickly about? "I can work, " he saidto himself, "and I can pay my debts and have something over; but whenit comes to love I'm no good. "

II

BRASS OUTSHINES GOLD

Hilda returned to her father's shop and was busy there until nineo'clock. Then Sophie Liebers came and they went into the Avenue for awalk. They pushed their way through and with the throngs up intoTompkins Square--the center of one of the several vast districts, little known because little written about, that contain the real NewYork and the real New Yorkers. In the Square several thousand youngpeople were promenading, many of the girls walking in pairs, almost allthe young men paired off, each with a young woman. It was warm, andthe stars beamed down upon the hearts of young lovers, blotting out forthem electric lights and surrounding crowds. It caused no commentthere for a young couple to walk hand in hand, looking each at theother with the expression that makes commonplace eyes wonderful. Andwhen the sound of a kiss came from a somewhat secluded bench, the onlyglances east in the direction whence it had come were glances ofapproval or envy. 

"There's Otto Heilig dogging us, " said Hilda to Sophie, as they walkedup and down. "Do you wonder I hate him?" They talked in American, asdid all the young people, except with those of their elders who couldspeak only German. 

Sophie was silent. If Hilda had been noting her face she would haveseen a look of satisfaction. 

"I can't bear him, " went on Hilda. "No girl could. He's so stupidand--and common!" Never before had she used that last word in such asense. Mr. Feuerstein had begun to educate her. 

Sophie's unobserved look changed to resentment. "Of course he's notequal to Mr. Feuerstein, " she said. "But he's a very nice fellow--atleast for an ordinary girl. " Sophie's father was an upholsterer, andnot a good one. He owned no tenements--was barely able to pay the rentfor a small corner of one. Thus her sole dower was her pretty face andher cunning. She had an industrious, scheming, not overscrupulousbrain and--her hopes and plans. Nor had she time to waste. For shewas nearer twenty-three than twenty-two, at the outer edge of themarriageable age of Avenue A, which believes in an early start at whatit regards as the main business of life--the family. 

"You surely couldn't marry such a man as Otto!" said Hilda absently. Her eyes were searching the crowd, near and far. 

Sophie laughed. "Beggars can't be choosers, " she answered. "I thinkhe's all right--as men go. It wouldn't do for me to expect too much. "

Just then Hilda caught sight of Mr. Feuerstein--the godlike head, theglorious hair, the graceful hat. Her manner changed--her eyesbrightened, her cheeks reddened, and she talked fast and laughed agreat deal. As they passed near him she laughed loudly and called outto Sophie as if she were not at her elbow--she feared he would not see. Mr. Feuerstein turned his picturesque head, slowly lifted his hat andjoined them. At once Hilda became silent, listening with raptattention to the commonplaces he delivered in sonorous, oracular tones. 

As he deigned to talk only to Hilda, who was walking between Sophie andhim, Sophie was free to gaze round. She spied Otto Heilig droopingdejectedly along. She adroitly steered her party so that it crossedhis path. He looked up to find himself staring at Hilda. She frownedat this disagreeable apparition into her happiness, and quickened herstep. But Sophie, without letting go of Hilda's hand, paused and spoketo Otto. Thus Hilda was forced to stop and to say ungraciously: "Mr. Feuerstein, Mr. Heilig. "

Then she and Mr. Feuerstein went on, and Sophie drew the reluctant Ottoin behind them. She gradually slackened her pace, so that she andHeilig dropped back until several couples separated them from Hilda andMr. Feuerstein. A few minutes and Hilda and Mr. Feuerstein were seatedon a bench in the deep shadow of a tree, Sophie and Heilig walkingslowly to and fro a short distance away. 

Heilig was miserable with despondent jealousy. He longed to inquireabout this remarkable-looking new friend of Hilda's. For Mr. Feuerstein seemed to be of that class of strangers whom Avenue Acondemns on their very appearance. It associates respectability withwork only, and it therefore suspects those who look as if they did notwork and did not know how. Sophie was soon answering of her own accordthe questions Heilig as a gentleman could not ask. "You must haveheard of Mr. Feuerstein? He's an actor--at the German Theater. Idon't think he's much of an actor--he's one of the kind that do alltheir acting off the stage. "

Heilig laughed unnaturally. He did not feel like laughing, but wishedto show his gratitude to Sophie for this shrewd blow at his enemy. "He's rigged out like a lunatic, isn't he?" Otto was thinking of thelong hair, the low-rolling shirt collar and the velvet collar on hiscoat, --light gray, to match his hat and suit. 

"I don't see what Hilda finds in him, " continued Sophie. "It makes melaugh to look at him; and when he talks I can hardly keep fromscreaming in his face. But Hilda's crazy over him, as you see. Hetells all sorts of romances about himself, and she believes every word. I think she'll marry him--you know, her father lets her do as shepleases. Isn't it funny that a sensible girl like Hilda can be sofoolish?"

Heilig did not answer this, nor did he heed the talk on love andmarriage which the over-eager Sophie proceeded to give. And it wastalk worth listening to, as it presented love and marriage in theinteresting, romantic-sensible Avenue A light. Otto was staringgloomily at the shadow of the tree. He would have been gloomier couldhe have witnessed the scene to which the unmoral old elm was lendingits impartial shade. 

Mr. Feuerstein was holding Hilda's hand while he looked soulfully downinto her eyes. She was returning his gaze, her eyes expressing allthe Schwarmerei of which their dark depths were capable at nineteen. He was telling her what a high profession the actor's was, how great hewas as an actor, how commonplace her life there, how beautiful he couldmake it if only he had money. It was an experience to hear Mr. Feuerstein say the word "money. " Elocution could go no further insurcharging five letters with contempt. His was one of those loftynatures that scorn all such matters of intimate concern to the humble, hard-pressed little human animal as food, clothing and shelter. He soloathed money that he would not deign to work for it, and as rapidly aspossible got rid of any that came into his possession. 

"Yes, my adorable little princess, " he rolled out, in the tones whichwove a spell over Hilda. "I adore you. How strange that _I_ shouldhave wandered into THIS region for my soul's bride--and should havefound her!"

Hilda pressed his clasping hand and her heart fluttered. But she wasas silent and shy as Heilig with her. What words had she fit toexpress response to these exalted emotions? "I--I feel it, " she saidtimidly. "But I can't say it to you. You must think me very foolish. "

"No--you need not speak. I know what you would say. Our hearts speakeach to the other without words, my beautiful jewel. And what do youthink your parents will say?"

"I--I don't know, " stammered Hilda. 

"They are so set on my marrying"--she glanced toward Otto--how ordinaryhe looked!--"marrying another--a merchant like my father. They thinkonly of what is practical. I'm so afraid they won't understand--US. "

Feuerstein sighed--the darkness prevented her from seeing that he wasalso frowning with impatience and irritation. 

"But it must be settled at once, my heart's bride, " he said gently. "Secrecy, deception are horrible to me. And I am mad to claim you asmy own. I could not take you without their consent--that would beunworthy. No, I could not grieve their honest hearts!"

Hilda was much disturbed. She was eminently practical herself, asidefrom her fondness for romance, which Mr. Feuerstein was developing in away so unnatural in her surroundings, so foreign to her education; andshe could see just how her father would look upon her lover. Shefeared he would vent plain speech that would cut Mr. Feuerstein'ssensitive soul and embattle his dignity and pride against his love. "I'll speak to them as soon as I can, " she said. 

"Then you will speak to them to-morrow or next day, my treasure, and Ishall see you on Sunday afternoon. "

"No--not Sunday afternoon. I must stay at home--father has ordered it. "

"Disappointment--deception--postponement!" Feuerstein struck his handupon his brow and sighed tragically. "Oh, my little Erebus-hairedangel, how you do test my love!"

Hilda was almost in tears--it was all intensely real to her. She feltthat he was superfine, that he suffered more than ordinary folk, likeherself and her people. "I'll do the best I can, " she pleaded. 

"It would be best for you to introduce them to me at once and let MEspeak. "

"No--no, " she protested earnestly, terror in her voice and her handtrembling in his. "That would spoil everything. You wouldn'tunderstand them, or they you. I'll speak--and see you Monday night. "

"Let it be so, " he conceded. "But I must depart. I am studying a newrole. " He had an engagement to take supper with several of hisintimates at the Irving Place cafe, where he could throw aside theheaviest parts of his pose and give way to his appetite for beer andSchweizerkase sandwiches. "How happy we shall be!" he murmuredtenderly, kissing her cheek and thinking how hard it was to bepractical and keep remote benefits in mind when she was so beautifuland so tempting and so trustful. He said aloud: "I am impatient, soul's delight! Is it strange?" And he bowed like a stage courtier toa stage queen and left her. 

She joined Sophie and Heilig and walked along in silence, Sophiebetween Otto and her. He caught glimpses of her face, and it made hisheart ache and his courage faint to see the love-light in her eyes--andshe as far away from him as Heaven from hell, far away in a world fromwhich he was excluded. He and Sophie left her at her father's and hetook Sophie home. 

Sophie felt that she had done a fair evening's work--not progress, butprogress in sight. "At least, " she reflected, "he's seeing that heisn't in it with Hilda and never can be. I must hurry her on and gether married to that fool. A pair of fools!"

Heilig found his mother waiting up for him. As she saw his expression, anxiety left her face, but cast a deeper shadow over her heart. Shefelt his sorrow as keenly as he--she who would have laid down her lifefor him gladly. 

"Don't lose heart, my big boy, " she said, patting him on the shoulderas he bent to kiss her. 

At this he dropped down beside her and hid his face in her lap andcried like the boy-man that he was. "Ach, Gott, mother, I love herSO!" he sobbed. 

Her tears fell on the back of his head. Her boy--who had gone sobravely to work when the father was killed at his machine, leaving thempenniless; her boy--who had laughed and sung and whistled and diffusedhope and courage and made her feel that the burden was not a burden buta joy for his strong, young shoulders. 

"Courage, beloved!" she said. "Hilda is a good girl. All will yet bewell. " And she felt it--God would not be God if He could let thisheart of gold be crushed to powder. 

III

FORTUNE FAVORS THE IMPUDENT

Like all people who lead useful lives and neither have nor pretend tohave acquired tastes for fine-drawn emotion, Otto and Hilda indulged inlittle mooning. They put aside their burdens--hers of dread, his ofdespair--and went about the work that had to be done and thathealthfully filled almost all their waking moments; and when bed-timecame their tired bodies refused either to sit up with their brains orto let their brains stay awake. But it was gray and rainy for Hildaand black night for Otto. 

On Sunday morning he rose at half-past three, instead of at four, hisweek-day rising time. Many of his hard-working customers were astirbetimes on Sunday to have the longer holiday. As they would spend thedaylight hours in the country and would not reach home until after theshop had closed, they bought the supplies for a cold or warmed-upsupper before starting. Otto looked so sad--usually he was in highspirits--that most of these early customers spoke to him or to JoeSchwartz about his health. There were few of them who did not know whatwas troubling him. Among those friendly and unpretending andwell-acquainted people any one's affairs were every one's affairs--whymake a secret of what was, after all, only the routine of human lifethe world over and the ages through? Thus Otto had the lively buttactful sympathy of the whole community. 

He became less gloomy under the warmth of this succession of friendlyfaces and friendly inquiries. But as trade slackened, toward noon, hehad more leisure to think, and the throbbing ache returned to his heavyheart. All the time pictures of her were passing before his eyes. Hehad known her so long and she had become such an intimate part of hisdaily life, so interwoven with it, that he could not look at present, past or future without seeing her. 

Why, he had known her since she was a baby. Did he not remember theday when he, a small boy on his way to school, had seen her toddleacross the sidewalk in front of him? Could he ever forget how she hadreached with great effort into a snowbank, had dug out with her small, red-mittened hands a chunk of snow, and, lifting it high above herhead, had thrown it weakly at him with such force that she had fallenheadlong upon the sidewalk? He had seen her every day sincethen--every day!

He most clearly of all recalled her as a school-girl. Those were thedays of the German bands of six and seven and even eight pieces, wandering as the hand-organs do now. And always with them came a swarmof little girls who danced when the band played, and of little boys wholistened and watched. He had often followed her as she followed aband, all day on a Saturday. And he had never wearied of watching herlong, slim legs twinkling tirelessly to the music. She invented newfigures and variations on steps which the other girls adopted. She andher especial friends became famous among the children throughout theEast Side; even grown people noted the grace and originality of aparticular group of girls, led by a black-haired, slim-legged one whodanced with all there was of her. And how their mothers did whip themwhen they returned from a day of this forbidden joy! But they were offagain the next Saturday--who would not pass a bad five minutes for thesake of hours on hours of delight?

And Hilda was gone from his life, was sailing away on his ship--was itnot his ship? was not its cargo his hopes and dreams and plans?--wassailing away with another man at the helm! And he could donothing--must sit dumb upon the shore. 

At half-past twelve he closed the shop and, after the midday dinnerwith his mother, went down to Brauner's. Hilda was in the room back ofthe shop, alone, and so agitated with her own affairs that she forgotto be cold and contemptuous to Otto. He bowed to her, then stoodstaring at the framed picture of Die Wacht am Rhein as if he had neverbefore seen the wonderful lady in red and gold seated under a tree andgazing out over the river--all the verses were underneath. When hecould stare at it no longer he turned to the other wall where hung thetarget bearing the marks of Paul Brauner's best shots in the prizecontest he had won. But he saw neither the lady watching the Rhine northe target with its bullet holes all in the bull's-eye ring, and itspendent festoon of medals. He was longing to pour out his love forher, to say to her the thousand things he could say to the image of herin his mind when she was not near. But he could only stand, an awkwardfigure, at which she would have smiled if she had seen it at all. 

She went out into the shop. While he was still trying to lay hold ofan end of the spinning tangle of his thoughts and draw it forth in thehope that all would follow, she returned, fright in her eyes. Sheclasped her hands nervously and her cheeks blanched. "Mr. Feuerstein!"she exclaimed. "And he's coming here! What SHALL I do?"

"What is the matter?" he asked. 

She turned upon him angrily--he was the convenient vent for hernervousness. "It's all your fault!" she exclaimed. "They want toforce me to marry you. And I dare not bring here the man I love. "

"My fault?" he muttered, dazed. "I'm not to blame. "

"Stupid! You're always in the way--no wonder I HATE you!" She wasclasping and unclasping her hands, trying to think, not conscious ofwhat she was saying. 

"Hate me?" he repeated mechanically. "Oh, no--surely not that. No, youcan't--"

"Be still! Let me think. Ach! Gott im Himmel! He's in the hall!"She sank wretchedly into a chair. "Can you do nothing but gape andmutter?" In her desperation her tone was appealing. 

"He can say he came with me, " said Otto. "I'll stand for him. "

"Yes--yes!" she cried. "That will do! Thank you--thank you!" And asthe knock came at the door she opened it. She had intended to bereproachful, but she could not. This splendid, romantic creature, withhis graceful hat and his golden hair and his velvet collar, was toocompelling, too overpowering. Her adoring love put her at a hopelessdisadvantage. "Oh--Mr. Feuerstein, " she murmured, her color coming andgoing with the rise and fall of her bosom. 

Mr. Feuerstein majestically removed his hat and turned a look ofhaughty inquiry upon Otto. Otto's fists clenched--he longed to discussthe situation in the only way which seemed to him to meet itsrequirements. 

"Hilda, " said the actor, when he thought there had been a long enoughpause for an imposing entrance, "I have come to end the deception--tomake you, before the world, as you are before Almighty God, myaffianced bride. "

"You--you mustn't, " implored Hilda, her fears getting the better of herawe. 

"If my parents learn now--just now, they will--oh, it will be hopeless!"

"I can not delay, angel of my heart!" He gave her the look that is thetheatrical convention for love beyond words. "It must be settled atonce. I must know my fate. I must put destiny to the touch and knowhappiness or--hell!"

"Bah!" thought Otto. "He has to hurry matters--he must be in trouble. He's got to raise the wind at once. "

"Mr. Feuerstein--Carl!" pleaded Hilda. "PLEASE try to be practical. "She went up to him, and Otto turned away, unable to bear the sight ofthat look of love, tenderness and trust. "You must not--at least, notright away. " She turned to Otto. "Help me, Otto. Explain to him. "

Heilig tried to put courtesy in his voice as he said to Mr. Feuerstein:"Miss Brauner is right. You'll only wreck her--her happiness. We'replain people down here and don't understand these fine, grand ways. You must pass as my friend whom I brought here--but I make onecondition. " He drew a long breath and looked at Hilda. For the firsttime she heard him, the real Otto Heilig, speak. "Hilda, " he went on, "I don't want to hurt you--I'd do anything for you, except hurt you. And I can't stand for this fel--for Mr. Feuerstein, unless you'llpromise me you won't marry him, no matter what he may say, until yourfather has had a chance to find out who and what he is. "

Mr. Feuerstein drew himself up grandly. "Who is this person, MissBrauner?" he demanded with haughty coldness. 

"He don't know any better, " she replied hurriedly. "He's an oldfriend. Trust me, Mr. Feuer--Carl! Everything depends on it. "

"I can not tolerate this coarse hand between me and the woman I love. No more deception! Carl Feuerstein"--how he did roll out thatname!--"can guard his own honor and his own destiny. "

The door into the private hall opened and in came Brauner and his wife, fine pictures of homely content triumphing over the discomforts ofSunday clothes. They looked at Mr. Feuerstein with candidlyquestioning surprise. Avenue A is not afraid to look, and speak, itsmind. Otto came forward. "This is Mr. Feuerstein, " he said. 

At once Brauner showed that he was satisfied, and Mrs. Brauner beamed. "Oh, a friend of yours, " Brauner said, extending his hand. "Glad tosee any friend of Otto's. "

Mr. Feuerstein advanced impressively and bowed first over Brauner'shand, then over Mrs. Brauner's. "I am not a friend of this--youngman, " he said with the dignity of a Hoheit. "I have come here topropose for the honor of your daughter's hand in marriage. "

Mr. Feuerstein noted the stupefied expression of the delicatessendealer and his wife, and glanced from Otto to Hilda with a triumphantsmile. But Hilda was under no delusion. She shivered and moved nearerto Otto. She felt that he was her hope in this crisis which the madlove of her hero-lover had forced. Brauner was the more angry becausehe had been thus taken by surprise. 

"What nonsense is this?" he growled, shaking his head violently. "Mydaughter is engaged to a plain man like ourselves. "

At this Heilig came forward again, pale and sad, but calm. "No, Mr. Brauner--she is not engaged. I'm sure she loves this gentleman, and Iwant her to be happy. I can not be anything to her but her friend. And I want you to give him a chance to show himself worthy of her. "

Brauner burst out furiously at Hilda. The very presence of this gaudy, useless-looking creature under his roof was an insult to his three godsof honor and happiness--his "Arbeit und Liebe und Heim. "

"What does this mean?" he shouted. 

"Where did you find this crazy fellow? Who brought him here?"

Hilda flared. "I love him, father! He's a noble, good man. I shallalways love him. Listen to Otto--it'll break my heart if you frown onmy marrying the man I love. " There was a touch of Mr. Feuerstein inher words and tone. 

"Let's have our game, Mr. Brauner, " interrupted Otto. "All this can besettled afterward. Why spoil our afternoon?"

Brauner examined Mr. Feuerstein, who was posing as a statue of gloomywrath. 

"Who are you?" he demanded in the insulting tone which exactlyexpressed his state of mind. 

Mr. Feuerstein cast up his eyes. "For Hilda's sake!" he murmuredaudibly. Then he made a great show of choking down his wrath. "I, sir, am of an ancient Prussian family--a gentleman. I saw your peerlessdaughter, sought an introduction, careless who or what she was in birthand fortune. Love, the leveler, had conquered me. I--"

"Do you work?" Brauner broke in. "What are your prospects? What haveyou got? What's your character? Have you any respectable friends whocan vouch for you? You've wandered into the wrong part of town. Downhere we don't give our daughters to strangers or do-nothings orrascals. We believe in love--yes. But we also have a little commonsense and self-respect. " Brauner flung this at Mr. Feuerstein inHigh-German. Hilda, mortified and alarmed, was also proud that herfather was showing Mr. Feuerstein that she came of people who knewsomething, even if they were "trades-folk. "

"I can answer all your questions to your satisfaction, " replied Mr. Feuerstein loftily, with a magnanimous wave of his white hand. "Myfriends will speak for me. And I shall give you the addresses of mynoble relatives in Germany, though I greatly fear they will oppose mymarriage. You, sir, were born in the Fatherland. You know theirprejudices. "

"Don't trouble yourself, " said Brauner ironically. "Just take yourselfoff and spare yourself the disgrace of mingling with us plain folk. Hilda, go to your room!" Brauner pointed the stem of his pipe towardthe outside door and looked meaningly at Mr. Feuerstein. 

Hilda, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed, put herself betweenMr. Feuerstein and the door. "I guess I've got something to say aboutthat!" she exclaimed. "Father, you can't make me marry Otto Heilig. IHATE him. I guess this is a free country. I shall marry Mr. Feuer--Carl. " She went up to him and put her arm through his andlooked up at him lovingly. He drew her to him protectingly, and for aninstant something of her passionate enthusiasm fired him, or rather, the actor in him. 

Otto laid his hand on Brauner's arm. 

"Don't you see, sir, " he said in Low-German, very earnestly, "thatyou're driving her to him? I beg you"--in a lower tone--"for the sakeof her future--don't drive him out, and her with him. If he reallywould make her a good husband, why not let her have him? If he's notwhat he claims, she won't have him. "

Brauner hesitated. "But she's yours. Her mother and I have promised. We are people of our word. "

"But I won't marry her--not unless she wishes it, she herself. Andnothing can be done until this man has had a chance. "

It was evident from Brauner's face that he was yielding to this commonsense. Hilda looked at Otto gratefully. "Thank you, Otto, " she said. He shook his head mournfully and turned away. 

Brauner gave Mr. Feuerstein a contemptuous glance. "Perhaps Otto'sright, " he growled. "You can stay. Let us have our game, Otto. "

Mrs. Brauner hurried to the kitchen to make ready for four-o'clockcoffee and cake. Hilda arranged the table for pinochle, and when herfather and Otto were seated, motioned her lover to a seat beside her onthe sofa. 

"Heart's bride, " he said in a low tone, "I am prostrated by what I haveborne for your sake. "

"I love you, " she said softly, her young eyes shining like Titania'swhen she was garlanding her ass-headed lover. "You were right, mybeloved. We shall win--father is giving in. He's very good-natured, and now he's used to the idea of our love. "

Otto lost the game, and, with his customary patience, submitted to thecustomary lecture on his stupidity as a player. Brauner was once morein a good humor. Having agreed to tolerate Mr. Feuerstein, he wasalready taking a less unfavorable view of him. And Mr. Feuerstein laidhimself out to win the owner of three tenements. He talked Germanpolitics with him in High-German, and applauded his accent and hisopinions. He told stories of the old German Emperor and Bismarck, andfinally discovered that Brauner was an ardent admirer of Schiller. Hesaw a chance to make a double stroke--to please Brauner and to feed hisown vanity. 

"With your permission, sir, " he said, "I will give a soliloquy fromWallenstein. "

Brauner went to the door leading down the private hall. "Mother!" hecalled. "Come at once. Mr. Feuerstein's going to act. "

Hilda was bubbling over with delight. Otto sat forgotten in thecorner. Mrs. Brauner came bustling, her face rosy from the kitchenfire and her hands moist from a hasty washing. Mr. Feuerstein waiteduntil all were seated in front of him. He then rose and advanced withstately tread toward the clear space. He rumpled his hair, drew downhis brows, folded his arms, and began a melancholy, princely pacing ofthe floor. With a suddenness that made them start, he burst outthunderously. He strode, he roared, he rolled his eyes, he waved hisarms, he tore at his hair. It was Wallenstein in a soul-sweat. Thefloor creaked, the walls echoed. His ingenuous auditors, except Otto, listened and looked with bated breath. They were as vastly impressedas is a drawing-room full of culture-hunters farther up town when a mandiscourses to them on a subject of which he knows just enough for awordy befuddling of their ignorance. And the burst of applause whichgreeted the last bellowing groan was full as hearty as that whichgreets the bad singing or worse playing at the average musicale. 

Swollen with vanity and streaming with sweat, Mr. Feuerstein sat down. "Good, Mr. Feuerstein--ah! it is grand!" said Brauner. Hilda looked ather lover proudly. Otto felt that the recitation was idiotic--"Nobodyever carried on like that, " he said to himself. But he also felt thepitiful truth, "I haven't got a ghost of a chance. "

He rose as soon as he could muster the courage. "I must get back andhelp Schwartz open up, " he said, looking round forlornly. "It's fiveo'clock. "

"You must stay to coffee, " insisted Mrs. Brauner. It should have beenserved before, but Mr. Feuerstein's exhibition had delayed it. 

"No--I must work, " he replied. "It's five o'clock. "

"That's right, " said Brauner with an approving nod. "Business first!I must go in myself--and you, too, Hilda. " The late Sunday afternoonopening was for a very important trade. 

Hilda blushed--the descent from the romantic to the practical jarredupon her. But Mr. Feuerstein rose and took leave most graciously. "May I return this evening?" he said to Brauner. 

"Always glad to see our friends, " answered Brauner with a shamefaced, apologetic look at Otto. 

At seven o'clock that evening Otto, just closing his shop, saw Mr. Feuerstein and Hilda pass on their way toward Tompkins Square. A fewminutes later Sophie came along. She paused and tried to draw him intoconversation. But he answered briefly and absently, graduallyretreating into the darkness of his shop and pointedly drawing the doorbetween him and her. Sophie went on her way downcast, but not in theleast disheartened. "When Hilda is Mrs. Feuerstein, " she said toherself. 

IV

A BOLD DASH AND A DISASTER

Mr. Feuerstein's evening was even more successful than his afternoon. Brauner was still grumbling. Mr. Feuerstein could not possibly beadjusted in his mind to his beloved ideals, his religion oflife--"Arbeit und Liebe und Heim. " Still he was yielding and Hilda sawthe signs of it. She knew he was practically won over and was secretlyinclined to be proud that his daughter had made this exalted conquest. All men regard that which they do not know either with extravagant aweor with extravagant contempt. While Brauner had the universal humanfailing for attaching too much importance to the department of humanknowledge in which he was thoroughly at home, he had the Americanadmiration for learning, for literature, and instead of spelling themwith a very small "l, " as "practical" men sometimes do with age andincreasing vanity, he spelled them with huge capitals, erecting theminto a position out of all proportion to their relative importance inthe life of the human animal. 

Mr. Feuerstein had just enough knowledge to enable him to play uponthis weakness, this universal human susceptibility to the poison ofpretense. All doubt of success fled his mind, and he was free toindulge his vanity and his contempt for these simple, unpretendingpeople. "So vulgar!" he said to himself, as he left their house thatnight--he who knew how to do nothing of use or value. "It is a greatcondescension for me. Working people--ugh!"

As he strolled up town he was spending in fancy the income from atleast two, perhaps all three, flat-houses--"The shop's enough for theold people and that dumb ass of a brother. I'll elevate the family. Yes, I think I'll run away with Hilda to-morrow--that's the safestplan. "

Otto had guessed close to the truth about Feuerstein's affairs. Theywere in a desperate tangle. He had been discharged from the stockcompany on Saturday night. He was worthless as an actor, and had thehostility of the management and of his associates. His landlady had gotthe news promptly from a boarder who paid in part by acting as a sortof mercantile agency for her in watching her very uncertain boarders. She had given him a week's notice, and had so arranged matters that ifhe fled he could not take his meager baggage. He was down toeighty-five cents of a borrowed dollar. He owed money everywhere insums ranging from five dollars to twenty-five cents. The most ofthese debts were in the form of half-dollar borrowings. He had begunhis New York career with loans of "five dollars until Thursday--I'm alittle pressed. " Soon it became impossible for him to get more than adollar at a time even from the women, except an occasional windfallthrough a weak or ignorant new acquaintance. He clung tenaciously tothe fifty-cent basis--to go lower would cheapen him. But for the lasttwo weeks his regular levies had been of twenty-five cents, with not afew descents to ten and even five cents. 

He reached Goerwitz's at ten o'clock and promenaded slowly through bothrooms twice. Just as he was leaving he espied an acquaintance who waslooking fiercely away from him as if saying: "I don't see you, and, damn you, don't you dare see me!" But Feuerstein advanced boldly. Twelve years of active membership in that band of "beats" which patrolsevery highway and byway and private way of civilization had thickenedand toughened his skin into a hide. "Good evening, Albers, " he saidcordially, with a wave of the soft, light hat. "I see you have avacant place in your little circle. Thank you!" He assumed thatAlbers had invited him, took a chair from another table and seatedhimself. Social courage is one of the rarest forms of courage. Albersgrew red but did not dare insult such a fine-looking fellow who seemedso hearty and friendly. He surlily introduced Feuerstein to hisfriends--two women and two men. Feuerstein ordered a round of beerwith the air of a prince and without the slightest intention of payingfor it. 

The young woman of the party was seated next to him. Even before hesat he recognized her as the daughter of Ganser, a rich brewer of theupper East Side. He had placed himself deliberately beside her, and heat once began advances. She showed at a glance that she was a silly, vain girl. Her face was fat and dull; she had thin, stringy hair. Shewas flabby and, in the lazy life to which the Gansers' wealth and thesilly customs of prosperous people condemned her, was already beginningto expand in the places where she could least afford it. 

He made amorous eyes at her. He laughed enthusiastically at herfoolish speeches. He addressed his pompous platitudes exclusively toher. Within an hour he pressed her hand under the table and sigheddramatically. When she looked at him he started and rolled his greateyes dreamily away. Never before had she received attentions that werenot of the frankest and crudest practical nature. She was all in aflutter at having thus unexpectedly come upon appreciation of thebeauties and merits her mirror told her she possessed. When Mrs. Schoenberg, her aunt, rose to go, she gave Feuerstein a chance to sayin a low aside: "My queen! To-morrow at eleven--at Bloomingdale's. "Her blush and smile told him she would be there. 

All left except Feuerstein and a youth he had been watching out of thecorner of his eyes--young Dippel, son of the rich drug-store man. Feuerstein saw that Dippel was on the verge of collapse from too muchdrink. As he still had his eighty-five cents, he pressed Dippel todrink and, by paying, induced him to add four glasses of beer to hisalready top-heavy burden. 

"Mus' go home, " said Dippel at last, rising abruptly. 

Feuerstein walked with him, taking his arm to steady him. "Let's haveone more, " he said, drawing him into a saloon, gently pushing him to aseat at a table and ordering whisky. After the third large drink, Dippel became helpless and maudlin and began to overflow with generoussentiments. "I love you, Finkelstern, ol' man, " he declared tearfully. "They say you're a dead beat, but wha' d'I care?"

"Finkelstern, " affecting drunkenness, shed tears on Dippel's shoulder, denied that he was a "beat" and swore that he loved Dippel like abrother. "You're my frien', " he said. "I know you'd trust me to anyamount. "

Dippel took from his trousers pocket a roll of bills several inchesthick. Feuerstein thrilled and his eyes grew eloquent as he noted tensand twenties and at least one fifty. Slowly, and with exaggeratedcare, Dippel drew off a ten. "There y'are, ol' dead beat, " he said. "I'll stake you a ten. Lots more where that came from--soda-fountaincounter's reg'lar gol' mine. "

In taking off the ten, he dropped a twenty. It fluttered to the floorand the soldier of fortune, the scorner of toil and toilers, slid hisfoot over it as swiftly and naturally as a true aristocrat alwayscovers an opportunity to get something somebody else has earned. Heput the ten in his pocket, when Dippel's eyes closed he stooped andretrieved the twenty with stealth--and skill. When the twenty washidden, and the small but typical operation in high finance wascomplete, he shook Dippel. "I say, old man, " he said, "hadn't youbetter let me keep your money for you? I'm afraid you'll lose it. "

Dippel slowly unclosed one eye and gave him a look of glassy cunning. He again drew the roll from his pocket, and, clasping it tightly in hisfist, waved it under Feuerstein's nose. As he did it, he vented adrunken chuckle. "Soda fountain's gol' mine, Fishenspiel, " he saidthickly. "No, you don't! I can watch my own roll. " He winked andchuckled. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Fishy, " he went on, with a leer. Then he tookoff another ten and handed it to Feuerstein. "Good fel', Fishy, " hemumbled, "'f y' are a dead beat. "

Feuerstein added the ten to the thirty and ordered more whisky. Dippeltried to doze, but he would not permit it. "He mustn't sleep any of itoff, " he thought. 

When the whisky came Dippel shook himself together and started up. "G'-night, " he said, trying to stand, look and talk straight. "Don'tf'rget, y'owe me ten dollarses--no, two ten dollarses. "

"Oh, sit down, " coaxed Feuerstein, taking him by the arm. "It's earlyyet. "

Dippel shook him off with much dignity. "Don' touch me!" he growled. "I know what I'm 'bout. I'm goin' home. " Then to himself, but aloud:"Dippy, you're too full f'r utterance--you mus' shake this beat. "Again to Feuerstein:

"G'night, Mr. Funkelshine--g'night. Sit there till I'm gone. "

Feuerstein rose to follow and Dippel struck at him. The waiter seizedeach by the shoulder and flung them through the swinging doors. Dippelfell in a heap on the sidewalk, but Feuerstein succeeded in keeping tohis feet. He went to the assistance of Dippel. 

"Don't touch me, " shouted Dippel. 

"Police! Police!"

Feuerstein looked fearfully round, gave Dippel a kick and hurried away. When he glanced back from a safe distance Dippel was waving to and froon his wobbling legs, talking to a cabman. 

"Close-fisted devil, " muttered Feuerstein. "He couldn't forget hismoney even when he was drunk. What good is money to a brute like him?"And he gave a sniff of contempt for the vulgarity and meanness ofDippel and his kind. 

Early the next morning he established a modus vivendi with his landladyby giving her ten dollars on account. He had an elaborate breakfast atTerrace Garden and went to Bloomingdale's, arriving at elevenprecisely. Lena Ganser was already there, pretending to shop at acounter in full view of the appointed place. They went to TerraceGarden and sat in the Stube. He at once opened up his sudden romanticpassion. "All night I have walked the streets, " he said, "dreaming ofyou. " When he had fully informed her of the state of his love-maddenedmind toward her, he went on to his most congenial topic--himself. 

"You have heard of the Freiherr von Feuerstein, the great soldier?" heasked her. 

Lena had never heard of him. But she did not know who was GermanEmperor or even who was President of the United States. She, therefore, had to be extremely cautious. She nodded assent. 

"My uncle, " said Feuerstein impressively. His eyes became reflective. "Strange!" he exclaimed in tender accents, soliloquizing--"strangewhere romance will lead us. Instead of remaining at home, in ease andluxury, here am I--an actor--a wanderer--roaming the earth in search ofthe heart that Heaven intended should be wedded to mine. " He fixed hisgaze upon Lena's fat face with the expression that had made Hilda'ssoul fall down and worship. "And--I have found it!" He drew in andexpelled a vast breath. "At last! My soul is at rest. "

Lena tried to look serious in imitation of him, but that was not herway of expressing emotion. She made a brief struggle, then collapsedinto her own mode--a vain, delighted, giggling laugh. 

"Why do you smile?" he asked sternly. He revolted from this discord tohis symphony. 

She sobered with a frightened, deprecating look. "Don't mind me, " shepleaded. "Pa says I'm a fool. I was laughing because I'm happy. You're such a sweet, romantic dream of a man. "

Feuerstein was not particular either as to the quality or as to thesource of his vanity-food. He accepted Lena's offering with acondescending nod and smile. They talked, or, rather, he talked andshe listened and giggled until lunch time. As the room began to fill, they left and he walked home with her. 

"You can come in, " she said. "Pa won't be home to lunch to-day and malets me do as I please. "

The Gansers lived in East Eighty-first Street, in the regulationtwenty-five-foot brownstone house. And within, also, it was of afamiliar New York type. It was the home of the rich, vain ignoramuswho has not taste enough to know that those to whom he has trusted fortaste have shockingly betrayed him. Ganser had begun as a teamster fora brewery and had grown rapidly rich late in life. He happened to beelected president of a big Verein and so had got the notion that he wasa person of importance and attainments beyond his fellows. Too coarseand narrow and ignorant to appreciate the elevated ideals of democracy, he reverted to the European vulgarities of rank and show. He decidedthat he owed it to himself and his family to live in the estate of"high folks. " He bought a house in what was for him anultra-fashionable quarter, and called for bids to furnish it in thelatest style. The results were even more regardless of taste than ofexpense--carpets that fought with curtains, pictures that quarreledwith their frames and with the walls, upholstery so bellicose that itseemed perilous to sit upon. 

But Feuerstein was as impressed as the Gansers had been the first timethey beheld the gorgeousness of their palace. He looked about with aproprietary sense--"I'll marry this little idiot, " he said to himself. "Maybe my nest won't be downy, and maybe I won't lie at my ease in it!"

He met Mrs. Ganser and had the opportunity to see just what Lena wouldlook and be twenty years thence. Mrs. Ganser moved with greatreluctance and difficulty. She did not speak unless forced and thenher voice seemed to have felt its way up feebly through a long andpainfully narrow passage, emerging thin, low and fainting. When shesat--or, rather, AS she sat, for she was always sitting--her mountainof soft flesh seemed to be slowly collapsing upon and around the chairlike a lump of dough on a mold. Her only interest in life wasdisclosed when she was settled and settling at the luncheon table. Sheused her knife more than her fork and her fingers more than either. Feuerstein left soon after luncheon, lingering only long enough to giveLena a theatrical embrace. "Well, I'll not spend much time with thosewomen, once I'm married, " he reflected as he went down the steps; andhe thought of Hilda and sighed. 

The next day but one he met Lena in the edge of the park and, aftergloomy silence, shot with strange piercing looks that made her feel asif she were the heroine of a book, he burst forth with a demand forimmediate marriage. 

"Forty-eight hours of torment!" he cried. "I shall not leave you againuntil you are securely mine. "

He proceeded to drop vague, adroit hints of the perils that beset afascinating actor's life, of the women that had come and gone in hislife. And Lena, all a-tremble with jealous anxiety, was in the parlorof a Lutheran parsonage, with the minister reading out of the blackbook, before she was quite aware that she and her cyclonic adorer werenot still promenading near the green-house in the park. "Now, " saidFeuerstein briskly, as they were once more in the open air, "we'll goto your father. "

"Goodness gracious, no, " protested Lena. "You don't know him--he'll becrazy--just crazy! We must wait till he finds out about you--thenhe'll be very proud. He wanted a son-in-law of high social standing--agentleman. "

"We will go home, I tell you, " replied Feuerstein firmly--his tone wasnow the tone of the master. All the sentiment was out of it and allthe hardness in it. 

Lena felt the change without understanding it. "I bet you, pa'll makeyou wish you'd taken my advice, " she said sullenly. 

But Feuerstein led her home. They went up stairs where Mrs. Ganser wasseated, looking stupidly at a new bonnet as she turned it slowly roundon one of her cushion-like hands. Feuerstein went to her and kissedher on the hang of her cheek. "Mother!" he said in a deep, movingvoice. 

Mrs. Ganser blinked and looked helplessly at Lena. 

"I'm married, ma, " explained Lena. 

"It's Mr. Feuerstein. " And she gave her silly laugh. 

Mrs. Ganser grew slowly pale. "Your father, " she at last succeeded inarticulating. "Ach!" She lifted her arm, thick as a piano leg, andresumed the study of her new bonnet. 

"Won't you welcome me, mother?" asked Feuerstein, his tone and attitudedignified appeal. 

Mrs. Ganser shook her huge head vaguely. "See Peter, " was all she said. 

They went down stairs and waited, Lena silent, Feuerstein pacing theroom and rehearsing, now aloud, now to himself, the scene he wouldenact with his father-in-law. Peter was in a frightful humor thatevening. His only boy, who spent his mornings in sleep, his afternoonsin speeding horses and his evenings in carousal, had come down upon himfor ten thousand dollars to settle a gambling debt. Peter was willingthat his son should be a gentleman and should conduct himself like one. But he had worked too hard for his money not to wince as a plain man atwhat he endured and even courted as a seeker after position for thehouse of Ganser. He had hoped to be free to vent his ill-humor athome. He was therefore irritated by the discovery that an outsider wasthere to check him. As he came in he gave Feuerstein a look which saidplainly:

"And who are you, and how long are you going to intrude yourself?"

But Feuerstein, absorbed in the role he had so carefully thought out, did not note his unconscious father-in-law's face. He extended bothhis hands and advanced grandly upon fat, round Peter. "My father!" heexclaimed in his classic German. "Forgive my unseemly haste in pluckingwithout your permission the beautiful flower I found within reach. "

Peter stepped back and gave a hoarse grunt of astonishment. His redface became redder as he glared, first at Feuerstein, then at Lena. "What lunatic is this you've got here, daughter?" he demanded. 

"My father!" repeated Feuerstein, drawing Lena to him. 

Ganser's mouth opened and shut slowly several times and his whiskersbristled. "Is this fellow telling the truth?" he asked Lena in a tonethat made her shiver and shrink away from her husband. 

She began to cry. "He made me do it, pa, " she whined. "I--I--"

"Go to your mother, " shouted Ganser, pointing his pudgy fingertremulously toward the door. "Move!"

Lena, drying her eyes with her sleeve, fled. Feuerstein became asickly white. When she had disappeared, Ganser looked at him withcruel little eyes that sparkled. Feuerstein quailed. It was full halfa minute before Ganser spoke. Then he went up to Feuerstein, stood ontiptoe and, waving his arms frantically above his head, yelled into hisface "Rindsvieh!"--as contemptuous an insult as one German can fling atanother. 

"She is my lawful wife, " said Feuerstein with an attempt at his pose. 

"Get the house aus--quick!--aus!--gleich!--Lump!--I call the police!"

"I demand my wife!" exclaimed Feuerstein. 

Ganser ran to the front door and opened it. "Out!" he shrieked. "Ifyou don't, I have you taken in when the police come the block down. This is my house! Rindsvieh!"

Feuerstein caught up his soft hat from the hall table and hurried out. As he passed, Ganser tried to kick him but failed ludicrously becausehis short, thick leg would not reach. At the bottom of the stepsFeuerstein turned and waved his fists wildly. Ganser waved his fists atFeuerstein and, shaking his head so violently that his hanging cheeksflapped back and forth, bellowed:

"Rindsvieh! Dreck!"

Then he rushed in and slammed the door. 

V

A SENSITIVE SOUL SEEKS SALVE

As Mr. Feuerstein left Hilda on the previous Sunday night he promisedto meet her in Tompkins Square the next evening--at the band concert. She walked up and down with Sophie, her spirits gradually sinking afterhalf-past eight and a feeling of impending misfortune settling inclose. She was not conscious of the music, though the second part ofthe program contained the selections from Wagner which she loved best. She feverishly searched the crowd and the half-darkness beyond. Sheimagined that every approaching tall man was her lover. With thefrankness to which she had been bred she made no concealment of herheart-sick anxiety. 

"He may have to be at the theater, " said Sophie, herself extremelyuneasy. Partly through shrewdness, partly through her natural suspicionof strangers, she felt that Mr. Feuerstein, upon whom she was building, was not a rock. 

"No, " replied Hilda. "He told me he wouldn't be at the theater, butwould surely come here. " The fact that her lover had said so settledit to her mind. 

They did not leave the Square until ten o'clock, when it was almostdeserted and most of its throngs of an hour before were in bed sleepingsoundly in the content that comes from a life of labor. And when shedid get to bed she lay awake for nearly an hour, tired though she was. Without doubt some misfortune had befallen him--"He's been hurt or isill, " she decided. The next morning she stood in the door of the shopwatching for the postman on his first round; as he turned the corner ofSecond Street, she could not restrain herself, but ran to meet him. 

"Any letter for me?" she inquired in a voice that compelled him to feelpersonal guilt in having to say "No. "

It was a day of mistakes in weights and in making up packages, a day ofvain searching for some comforting explanation of Mr. Feuerstein'sfailure and silence. After supper Sophie came and they went to theSquare, keeping to the center of it where the lights were brightest andthe people fewest. 

"I'm sure something's happened, " said Sophie. "Maybe Otto has told hima story--or has--"

"No--not Otto. " Hilda dismissed the suggestion as impossible. She hadknown Otto too long and too well to entertain for an instant the ideathat he could be underhanded. "There's only one reason--he's sick, very sick--too sick to send word. "

"Let's go and see, " said Sophie, as if she had not planned it hoursbefore. 

Hilda hesitated. "It might look as if I--" She did not finish. 

"But you needn't show yourself, " replied Sophie. "You can wait downthe street and I'll go up to the door and won't give my name. "

Hilda clasped her arm more tightly about Sophie's waist and they setout. They walked more and more swiftly until toward the last they werealmost running. At the corner of Fifteenth Street and First AvenueHilda stopped. "I'll go through to Stuyvesant Square, " she said, "andwait there on a bench near the Sixteenth Street entrance. You'll bequick, won't you?"

Sophie went to Mr. Feuerstein's number and rang. After a long wait aslovenly girl in a stained red wrapper, her hair in curl-papers and onestocking down about her high-heeled slipper, opened the door and said:"What do you want? I sent the maid for a pitcher of beer. "

"I want to ask about Mr. Feuerstein, " replied Sophie. 

The girl's pert, prematurely-wrinkled face took on a quizzical smile. "Oh!" she said. "You can go up to his room. Third floor, back. Knockhard--he's a heavy sleeper. "

Sophie climbed the stairs and knocked loudly. "Come!" was the answerin German, in Mr. Feuerstein's deep stage-voice. 

She opened the door a few inches and said through the crack: "It's me, Mr. Feuerstein--Sophie Liebers--from down in Avenue A--Hilda's friend. "

"Come in, " was Mr. Feuerstein's reply, in a weary voice, after a pause. From Ganser's he had come straight home and had been sitting there eversince, depressed, angry, perplexed. 

Sophie pushed the door wide and stood upon the threshold. "Hilda's overin Stuyvesant Square, " she said. "She thought you might be sick, so wecame. But if you go to her, you must pretend you came by accident anddidn't see me. "

Mr. Feuerstein reflected, but not so deeply that he neglected to posebefore Sophie as a tragedy-king. And it called for little pretense, sodesperate and forlorn was he feeling. Should he go or should he sendSophie about her business? There was no hope that the rich brewerwould take him in; there was every reason to suspect that Peter wouldarrange to have the marriage quietly annulled. At most he could get afew thousands, perhaps only hundreds, by threatening a scandal. Yes, it would be wise, on the whole, to keep little Hilda on the string. 

"I am very ill, " he said gloomily, "but I will go. "

Sophie felt hopeful and energetic again. "I won't come up to her tillyou leave her. "

"You are a good girl--a noble creature. " Mr. Feuerstein took her handand pretended to be profoundly moved by her friendship. 

Sophie gave him a look of simplicity and warm-heartedness. Her talentfor acting had not been spoiled by a stage experience. "Hilda's myfriend, " she said earnestly. "And I want to see her happy. "

"Noble creature!" exclaimed Mr. Feuerstein. "May God reward you!" Andhe dashed his hand across his eyes. 

He went to the mirror on his bureau, carefully arranged the yellowaureole, carefully adjusted the soft light hat. Then with feeble stephe descended the stairs. As he moved down the street his face wasmournful and his shoulders were drooped--a stage invalid. When Hildasaw him coming she started up and gave a little cry of delight; but asshe noted his woebegone appearance, a very real paleness came to hercheeks and very real tears to her great dark eyes. 

Mr. Feuerstein sank slowly into the seat beside her. "Soul's wife, " hemurmured. "Ah--but I have been near to death. The strain of theinterview with your father--the anguish--the hope--oh, what a curse itis to have a sensitive soul! And my old trouble"--he laid his handupon his heart and slowly shook his head--"returned. It will end mesome day. "

Hilda was trembling with sympathy. She put her hand upon his. "If youhad only sent word, dear, " she said reproachfully, "I would have come. Oh--I do love you so, Carl! I could hardly eat or sleep--and--"

"The truth would have been worse than silence, " he said in a hollowvoice. He did not intend the double meaning of his remark; the Ganserswere for the moment out of his mind, which was absorbed in his acting. "But it is over for the present--yes, over, my priceless pearl. I cancome to see you soon. If I am worse I shall send you word. "

"But can't I come to see you?"

"No, bride of my dreams. It would not be--suitable. We must respectthe little conventions. You must wait until I come. "

His tone was decided. She felt that he knew best. In a few minutes herose. "I must return to my room, " he said wearily. "Ah, heart'sdelight, it is terrible for a strong man to find himself thus weak. Pity me. Pray for me. "

He noted with satisfaction her look of love and anxiety. It was someslight salve to his cruelly wounded vanity. He walked feebly away, butit was pure acting, as he no longer felt so downcast. He had soon putHilda into the background and was busy with his plans for revenge uponGanser--"a vulgar animal who insulted me when I honored him by marryinghis ugly gosling. " Before he fell asleep that night he had himselfwrought up to a state of righteous indignation. Ganser had cheated, had outraged him--him, the great, the noble, the eminent. 

Early the next morning he went down to a dingy frame building thatcowered meanly in the shadow of the Criminal Court House. He mounted acreaking flight of stairs and went in at a low door on which "Loeb, Lynn, Levy and McCafferty" was painted in black letters. In the narrowentrance he brushed against a man on the way out, a man with a hangdoglook and short bristling hair and the pastily-pallid skin that comesfrom living long away from the sunlight. Feuerstein shiveredslightly--was it at the touch of such a creature or at the suggestionshis appearance started? In front of him was a ground-glass partitionwith five doors in it. At a dirty greasy pine table sat a boy--one ofthose child veterans the big city develops. He had a long andextremely narrow head. His eyes were close together, sharp and shifty. His expression was sophisticated and cynical. "Well, sir!" he saidwith curt impudence, giving Feuerstein a gimlet-glance. 

"I want to see Mr. Loeb. " Feuerstein produced a card--it was one ofhis last remaining half-dozen and was pocket-worn. 

The office boy took it with unveiled sarcasm in his eyes and in thecorners of his mouth. He disappeared through one of the five doors, almost immediately reappeared at another, closed it mysteriously behindhim and went to a third door. He threw it open and stood aside. "Atthe end of the hall, " he said. "The door with Mr. Loeb's name on it. Knock and walk right in. "

Feuerstein followed the directions and found himself in a dingy littleroom, smelling of mustiness and stale tobacco, and lined with lawbooks, almost all on crime and divorce. Loeb, Lynn, Levy andMcCafferty were lawyers to the lower grades of the criminal and shadyonly. They defended thieves and murderers; they prosecuted or defendedscandalous divorce cases; they packed juries and suborned perjury andthey tutored false witnesses in the way to withstand cross-examination. In private life they were four home-loving, law-abiding citizens. 

Loeb looked up from his writing and said with contemptuous cordiality:"Oh--Mr. Feuerstein. Glad to see you--AGAIN. What's the trouble--NOW?"

At "again" and "now" Feuerstein winced slightly. He looked nervouslyat Loeb. 

"It's been--let me see--at least seven years since I saw you, "continued Loeb, who was proud of his amazing memory. He was a squat, fat man, with a coarse brown skin and heavy features. He was carefullygroomed and villainously perfumed and his clothes were in the extremeof the loudest fashion. A diamond of great size was in his bright-bluescarf; another, its match, loaded down his fat little finger. Bothcould be unscrewed and set in a hair ornament which his wife wore atfirst nights or when they dined in state at Delmonico's. As he studiedFeuerstein, his face had its famous smile, made by shutting his teethtogether and drawing his puffy lips back tightly from them. 

"That is all past and gone, " said Feuerstein. "As a lad I was saved byyou from the consequences of boyish folly. And now, a man grown, Icome to you to enlist your aid in avenging an insult to my honor, an--"

"Be as brief as possible, " cut in Loeb. "My time is much occupied. The bald facts, please--FACTS, and BALD. "

Feuerstein settled himself and prepared to relate his story as if hewere on the stage, with the orchestra playing low and sweet. "I met awoman and loved her, " he began in a deep, intense voice with apassionate tremolo. 

"A bad start, " interrupted Loeb. "If you go on that way, we'll neverget anywhere. You're a frightful fakir and liar, Feuerstein. Youwere, seven years ago; of course, the habit's grown on you. Speak out!What do you want? As your lawyer, I must know things exactly as theyare. "

"I ran away with a girl--the daughter of the brewer, Peter Ganser, "said Feuerstein, sullen but terse. "And her father wouldn't receiveme--shut her up--put me out. "

"And you want your wife?"

"I want revenge. "

"Of course--cash. Well, Ganser's a rich man. I should say he'd giveup a good deal to get rid of YOU. " Loeb gave that mirthless andmirth-strangling smile as he accented the "you. "

"He's got to give up!" said Feuerstein fiercely. 

"Slowly! Slowly!" Loeb leaned forward and looked into Feuerstein'sface. "You mustn't forget. "

Feuerstein's eyes shifted rapidly as he said in a false voice: "She gota divorce years ago. "

"M-m-m, " said Loeb. 

"Anyhow, she's away off in Russia. "

"I don't want you to confess a crime you haven't come to me about, "said Loeb, adding with peculiar emphasis: "Of course, if we KNEW youwere still married to the Mrs. Feuerstein of seven years ago wecouldn't take the present case. As it is--the best way is to bluff theold brewer. He doesn't want publicity; neither do you. But you knowhe doesn't, and he doesn't know that you love quiet. "

"Ganser treated me infamously. He must sweat for it. I'm nothing ifnot a good hater. "

"No doubt, " said Loeb dryly. "And you have rights which the lawsafeguards. "

"What shall I do?"

"Leave that to us. How much do you want--how much damages?"

"He ought to pay at least twenty-five thousand. "

Loeb shrugged his shoulders. "Ridiculous!" he said. "Possibly the fivewithout the twenty. And how do you expect to pay us?"

"I'm somewhat pressed just at the moment. But I thought"--Feuersteinhalted. 

"That we'd take the case as a speculation? Well, to oblige an oldclient, we will. But you must agree to give us all we can get over andabove five thousand--half what we get if it's below that. "

"Those are hard terms, " remonstrated Feuerstein. The more he hadthought on his case, the larger his expectations had become. 

"Very generous terms, in the circumstances. You can take it or leaveit. "

"I can't do anything without you. I accept. "

"Very well. " Loeb took up his pen, as if he were done with Feuerstein, but went on: "And you're SURE that the--the FORMER Mrs. Feuerstein isdivorced--and won't turn up?"

"Absolutely. She swore she'd never enter any country where I was. "

"Has she any friends who are likely to hear of this?"

"She knew no one here. "

"All right. Go into the room to the left there. Mr. Travis or Mr. Gordon will take your statement of the facts--names, dates, alldetails. Good morning. "

Feuerstein went to Travis, small and sleek, smooth and sly. WhenTravis had done with him, he showed him out. "Call day afterto-morrow, " he said, "and when you come, ask for me. Mr. Loeb neverbothers with these small cases. "

Travis reported to Loeb half an hour later, when Feuerstein's statementhad been typewritten. Loeb read the statement through twice with greatcare. 

"Most complete, Mr. Travis, " was his comment. "You've done a goodpiece of work. " He sat silent, drumming noiselessly on the table withhis stumpy, hairy, fat fingers. At last he began: "It ought to beworth at least twenty thousand. Do you know Ganser?"

"Just a speaking acquaintance. "

"Excellent. What kind of a man is he?"

"Stupid and ignorant, but not without a certain cunning. We can get athim all right, though. He's deadly afraid of social scandal. Wants toget into the German Club and become a howling swell. But he don'tstand a chance, though he don't know it. "

"You'd better go to see him yourself, " said Loeb. 

"I'll be glad to do it, Mr. Loeb. Isn't your man--this Feuerstein--agood bit to the queer?"

"A dead beat--one of the worst kind--the born gentleman. You'venoticed, perhaps, that where a man or woman has been brought up to livewithout work, to live off other people's work, there's nothing theywouldn't stoop to, to keep on living that way. As for this chap, if hehad got started right, he'd be operating up in the Fifth Avenuedistrict. He used to have a wife. He SAYS he's divorced. "

Loeb and Travis looked each at the other significantly. "I see, " saidTravis. 

"Neither side wants scandal. Still, I think you're right, thatGanser's good for twenty thousand. "

"You can judge better after you've felt him, " replied Loeb. "You'dbetter go at once. Give him the tip that Feuerstein's about to forcehim to produce his daughter in court. But you understand. Try toinduce him to go to Beck. " Travis grinned and Loeb's eyes twinkled. "You might lay it on strong about Feuerstein's actor-craze for gettinginto the papers. "

"That's a grand idea, " exclaimed Travis. "I don't think I'll suggestany sum if he agrees to go to Beck. Beck can get at least fivethousand more out of him than any other lawyer in town. "

"Beck's the wonder, " said Loeb. 

"LOEB and Beck, " corrected Travis in a flattering tone. 

Loeb waved his hot, fat head gently to and fro as if a pleasant coolingstream were being played upon it. "I think I have got a 'pretty goodnut on me, ' as John L. Used to say, " he replied. "I think I do know alittle about the law. And now hustle yourself, my boy. This case mustbe pushed. The less time Ganser has to look about, the better for--ourclient. "

Travis found Ganser in his office at the brewery. The old man's facewas red and troubled. 

"I've come on very unpleasant business, Mr. Ganser, " said Travis withdeference. "As you know, I am with Loeb, Lynn, Levy and McCafferty. Our client, Mr. Feuerstein--"

Ganser leaped to his feet, apoplectic. 

"Get out!" he shouted, "I don't speak with you!"

"As an officer of the court, Mr. Ganser, " said Travis suavely, "it ismy painful duty to insist upon a hearing. We lawyers can't select ourclients. We must do our best for all comers. Our firm has sent me outof kindly feeling for you. We are all men of family, like yourself, and, when the case was forced on us, we at once tried to think how wecould be of service to you--of course, while doing our full legal dutyby our client. I've come in the hope of helping you to avoid thedisgrace of publicity. "

"Get out!" growled Peter. "I know lawyers--they're all thieves. Getout!" But Travis knew that Peter wished him to stay. 

"I needn't enlarge on our client--Mr. Feuerstein. You know he's anactor. You know how they crave notoriety. You know how eager thenewspapers are to take up and make a noise about matters of this kind. "

Peter was sweating profusely, and had to seat himself. "It'soutrageous!" he groaned in German. 

"Feuerstein has ordered us to have your daughter brought into court atonce--to-morrow. He's your daughter's lawful husband and she's wellbeyond the legal age. Of course, he can't compel her to live with himor you to support him. But he can force the courts to inquirepublicly. And I'm sorry to say we'll not be able to restrain him orthe press, once he gets the ball to rolling. "

Peter felt it rolling over him, tons heavy. "What you talk about?" hesaid, on his guard but eager. 

"It's an outrage that honest men should be thus laid open to attack, "continued Travis in a sympathetic tone. "But if the law permits theseoutrages, it also provides remedies. Your daughter's mistake may costyou a little something, but there need be no scandal. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked Ganser. 

"Really, I've talked too much already, Mr. Ganser. I almost forgot, for the moment, that I'm representing Mr. Feuerstein. But, as betweenfriends, I'd advise you to go to some good divorce lawyers--a firm thatis reputable but understands the ins and outs of the business, somefirm like Beck and Brown. They can tell you exactly what to do. "

Ganser regarded his "friend" suspiciously but credulously. "I'll see, "he said. "But I won't pay a cent. "

"Right you are, sir! And there may be a way out of it without paying. But Beck can tell you. " Travis made a motion toward the inside pocketof his coat, then pretended to change his mind. "I came here to servethe papers on you, " he said apologetically. "But I'll take theresponsibility of delaying--it can't make Feuerstein any less married, and your daughter's certainly safe in her father's care. I'll wait inthe hope that YOU'LL take the first step. "

Ganser lost no time in going to his own lawyers--Fisher, Windisch andCarteret, in the Postal Telegraph Building. He told Windisch the wholestory. "And, " he ended, "I've got a detective looking up the rascal. He's a wretch--a black wretch. "

"We can't take your case, Mr. Ganser, " said Windisch. "It's wholly outof our line. We don't do that kind of work. I should say Beck andBrown were your people. They stand well, and at the same time theyknow all the tricks. "

"But they may play me the tricks. "

"I think not. They stand well at the bar. "

"Yes, yes, " sneered Peter, who was never polite, was always insultinglyfrank to any one who served him for pay. "I know that bar. "

"Well, Mr. Ganser, " replied Windisch, angry but willing to take almostanything from a rich client, "I guess you can look out for yourself. Of course there's always danger, once you get outside the straightcourse of justice. As I understand it, your main point is nopublicity?"

"That's right, " replied Ganser. "No newspapers--no trial. "

"Then Beck and Brown. Drive as close a bargain as you can. But you'llhave to give up a few thousands, I'm afraid. "

Ganser went over into Nassau Street and found Beck in his office. Hegazed with melancholy misgivings at this lean man with hair andwhiskers of a lifeless black. Beck suggested a starved black spider, especially when you were looking into his cold, amused, malignant blackeyes. He made short work of the guileless brewer, who was dazed andfrightened by the meshes in which he was enveloped. Staring at thehorrid specter of publicity which these men of craft kept before him, he could not vigorously protest against extortion. Beck discoveredthat twenty thousand was his fighting limit. 

"Leave the matter entirely in our hands, " said Beck. "We'll make thebest bargain we can. But Feuerstein has shrewd lawyers--none better. That man Loeb--" Beck threw up his arms. "Of course, " he continued, "Ihad to know your limit. I'll try to make the business as cheap for youas possible. "

"Put 'em off, " said Ganser. "My Lena's sick. "

His real reason was his hopes from the reports on Feuerstein's past, which his detective would make. But he thought it was not necessary totell Beck about the detective. 

VI

TRAGEDY IN TOMPKINS SQUARE

After another talk with Travis, Feuerstein decided that he must give upHilda entirely until this affair with the Gansers was settled. Afterward--well, there would be time to decide when he had his fivethousand. He sent her a note, asking her to meet him in TompkinsSquare on Friday evening. That afternoon he carefully preparedhimself. He resolved that the scene between her and him should be, sofar as his part was concerned, a masterpiece of that art of which heknew himself to be one of the greatest living exponents. Only his ownelegant languor had prevented the universal recognition of this and histriumph over the envy of professionals and the venality of critics. 

It was a concert night in Tompkins Square, and Hilda, off from her workfor an hour, came alone through the crowds to meet him. She made noeffort to control the delight in her eyes and in her voice. She lovedhim; he loved her. Why suppress and deny? Why not glory in theglorious truth? She loved him, not because he was her conquest, butbecause she was his. 

Mr. Feuerstein was so absorbed in his impending "act" that he barelynoted how pretty she was and how utterly in love--what was thereremarkable in a woman being in love with him? "The women are all crazyabout me, " was his inward comment whenever a woman chanced to glance athim. As he took Hilda's hand he gave her a look of intense, yearningmelancholy. He sighed deeply. "Let us go apart, " he said. Then heglanced gloomily round and sighed again. 

They seated themselves on a bench far away from the music and thecrowds. He did not speak but repeated his deep sigh. 

"Has it made you worse to come, dear?" Hilda asked anxiously. "Are yousick?"

"Sick?" he said in a hollow voice. "My soul is sick--dying. My God!My God!" An impressive pause. "Ah, child, you do not know whatsuffering is--you who have lived only in these simple, humblesurroundings. "

Hilda was trembling with apprehension. "What is it, Carl? You cantell me. Let me help you bear it. "

"No! no! I must bear it alone. I must take my dark shadow from youryoung life. I ought not to have come. I should have fled. But lovemakes me a coward. "

"But I love you, Carl, " she said gently. 

"And I have missed you--dreadfully, dreadfully!"

He rolled his eyes wildly. "You torture me!" he exclaimed, seizingher hand in a dead man's clutch. "How CAN I speak?"

Hilda's heart seemed to stand still. She was pale to the lips, and hecould see, even in the darkness, her eyes grow and startle. 

"What is it?" she murmured. "You know I--can bear anything for you. "

"Not that tone, " he groaned. "Reproach me! Revile me! Be harsh, scornful--but not those tender accents. "

He felt her hand become cold and he saw terror in her eyes. "Forgiveme, " she said humbly. "I don't know what to say or do. I--you look sostrange. It makes me feel all queer inside. Won't you tell me, please?"

He noted with artistic satisfaction that the band was playingpassionate love-music with sobs and sad ecstasies of farewell embracesin it. He kissed her, then drew back. "No, " he groaned. "Those lipsare not for me, accursed that I am. "

She was no longer looking at him, but sat gazing straight ahead, hershoulders bent as if she were crouching to receive a blow. He began ina low voice, and, as he spoke, it rose or fell as his words and thedistant music prompted him. "Mine has been a luckless life, " he said. "I have been a football of destiny, kicked and flung about, hither andyon. Again and again I have thought in my despair to lay me down anddie. But something has urged me on, on, on. And at last I met you. "

He paused and groaned--partly because it was the proper place, partlywith vexation. Here was a speech to thrill, yet she sat there inert, her face a stupid blank. He was not even sure that she had heard. 

"Are you listening?" he asked in a stern aside, a curious mingling ofthe actor and the stage manager. 

"I--I don't know, " she answered, startling. "I feel so--so--queer. Idon't seem to be able to pay attention. " She looked at him timidly andher chin quivered. "Don't you love me any more?"

"Love you? Would that I did not! But I must on--my time is short. How can you say I do not love you when my soul is like a raging fire?"

She shook her head slowly. "Your voice don't feel like it, " she said. "What is it? What are you going to say?"

He sighed and looked away from her with an irritated expression. "Little stupid!" he muttered--she didn't appreciate him and he was afool to expect it. But "art for art's sake"; and he went on in tonesof gentle melancholy. "I love you, but fate has again caught me up. Iam being whirled away. I stretch out my arms to you--in vain. Do youunderstand?" It exasperated him for her to be so still--why didn't sheweep?

She shook her head and replied quietly:

"No--what is it? Don't you love me any more?"

"Love has nothing to do with it, " he said, as gently as he could in theirritating circumstances. "My mysterious destiny has--"

"You said that before, " she interrupted. "What is it? Can't you tellme so that I can understand?"

"You never loved me!" he cried bitterly. 

"You know that isn't so, " she answered. "Won't you tell me, Carl?"

"A specter has risen from my past--I must leave you--I may neverreturn--"

She gave a low, wailing cry--it seemed like an echo of the music. Thenshe began to sob--not loudly, but in a subdued, despairing way. Shewas not conscious of her grief, but only of his words--of the dreamvanished, the hopes shattered. 

"Never?" she said brokenly. 

"Never!" he replied in a hoarse whisper. 

Mr. Feuerstein looked down at Hilda's quivering shoulders withsatisfaction. "I thought I could make even her feel, " he said tohimself complacently. Then to her in the hoarse undertone: "And myheart is breaking. "

She straightened and her tears seemed to dry with the flash of hereyes. "Don't say that--you mustn't!" She blazed out before hisastonished eyes, a woman electric with disdain and anger. "It'sfalse--false! I hate you--hate you--you never cared--you've made afool of me--"

"Hilda!" He felt at home now and his voice became pleading andanguished. "You, too, desert me! Ah, God, whenever was there man sowretched as I?" He buried his face in his hands. 

"Oh, you put it on well, " she scoffed. "But I know what it all means. "

Mr. Feuerstein rose wearily. "Farewell, " he said in a broken voice. "At least I am glad you will be spared the suffering that is blastingmy life. Thank God, she did not love me!"

The physical fact of his rising to go struck her courage full in theface. 

"No--no, " she urged hurriedly, "not yet--not just yet--wait a fewminutes more--"

"No--I must go--farewell!" And he seated himself beside her, put hisarm around her. 

She lay still in his arms for a moment, then murmured: "Say it isn'tso, Carl--dear!"

"I would say there is hope, heart's darling, " he whispered, "but I haveno right to blast your young life. And I may never return. "

She started up, her face glowing. 

"Then you WILL return?"

"It may be that I can, " he answered. "But--"

"Then I'll wait--gladly. No matter how long it is, I'll wait. Whydidn't you say at first, 'Hilda, something I can't tell you about hashappened. I must go away. When I can, I'll come. ' That would havebeen enough, because I--I love you!"

"What have I done to deserve such love as this!" he exclaimed, and foran instant he almost forgot himself in her beauty and sweetness andsincerity. 

"Will it be long?" she asked after a while. 

"I hope not, bride of my soul. But I can not--dare not say. "

"Wherever you go, and no matter what happens, dear, " she said softly, "you'll always know that I'm loving you, won't you?" And she looked athim with great, luminous, honest eyes. 

He began to be uncomfortable. Her complete trust was producing aneffect even upon his nature. The good that evil can never kill out ofa man was rousing what was very like a sense of shame. "I must gonow, " he said with real gentleness in his voice and a look at her thathad real longing in it. He went on: "I shall come as soon as theshadow passes--I shall come soon, Herzallerliebste!"

She was cheerful to the last. But after he had left she satmotionless, except for an occasional shiver. From the music-stand camea Waldteufel waltz, with its ecstatic throb and its long, dreamy swing, its mingling of joy with foreboding of sadness. The tears streameddown her cheeks. "He's gone, " she said miserably. She rose and wentthrough the crowd, stumbling against people, making the homewardjourney by instinct alone. She seemed to be walking in her sleep. Sheentered the shop--it was crowded with customers, and her father, hermother and August were bustling about behind the counters. "Here, tiethis up, " said her father, thrusting into her hands a sheet of wrappingpaper on which were piled a chicken, some sausages, a bottle of olivesand a can of cherries. She laid the paper on the counter and went onthrough the parlor and up the stairs to her plain, neat, littlebedroom. She threw herself on the bed, face downward. She fell atonce into a deep sleep. When she awoke it was beginning to dawn. Sheremembered and began to moan. "He's gone! He's gone! He's gone!" sherepeated over and over again. And she lay there, sobbing and callingto him. 

When she faced the family there were black circles around her eyes. They were the eyes of a woman grown, and they looked out upon the worldwith sorrow in them for the first time. 

VII

LOVE IN SEVERAL ASPECTS

It was not long before the community was talking of the change inHilda, the abrupt change to a gentle, serious, silent woman, thesparkle gone from her eyes, pathos there in its stead. But not evenher own family knew her secret. 

"When is Mr. Feuerstein coming again?" asked her father when a week hadpassed. 

"I don't know just when. Soon, " answered Hilda, in a tone which madeit impossible for such a man as he to inquire further. 

Sophie brought all her cunning to bear in her effort to get at thefacts. But Hilda evaded her hints and avoided her traps. After muchthinking she decided that Mr. Feuerstein had probably gone for good, that Hilda was hoping when there was nothing to hope for, and that herown affairs were suffering from the cessation of action. She was inthe mood to entertain the basest suggestions her craft could putforward for making marriage between Hilda and Otto impossible. But shehad not yet reached the stage at which overt acts are deliberatelyplanned upon the surface of the mind. 

One of her girl friends ran in to gossip with her late in the afternoonof the eighth day after Mr. Feuerstein's "parting scene" in TompkinsSquare. The talk soon drifted to Hilda, whom the other girl did notlike. 

"I wonder what's become of that lover of hers--that tall fellow from uptown?" asked Miss Hunneker. 

"I don't know, " replied Sophie in a strained, nervous manner. "I alwayshated to see Hilda go with him. No good ever comes of that sort ofthing. "

"I supposed she was going to marry him. "

Sophie became very uneasy indeed. "It don't often turn out that way, "she said in a voice that was evidently concealing something--apparentlyan ugly rent in the character of her friend. 

Walpurga Hunneker opened her eyes wide. "You don't mean--" sheexclaimed. And, as Sophie looked still more confused, "Well, I THOUGHT so! Gracious! Her pride must have had a fall. Nowonder she looks so disturbed. "

"Poor Hilda!" said Sophie mournfully. Then she looked at Walpurga in afrightened way as if she had been betrayed into saying too much. 

Walpurga spent a busy evening among her confidantes, with the resultthat the next day the neighborhood was agitated bygossip--insinuations that grew bolder and bolder, that had sprung fromnowhere, but pointed to Hilda's sad face as proof of their truth. Andon the third day they had reached Otto's mother. Not a detail waslacking--even the scene between Hilda and her father was one of theseveral startling climaxes of the tale. Mrs. Heilig had been bitterlyresentful of Hilda's treatment of her son, and she accepted thestory--it was in such perfect harmony with her expectations from themoment she heard of Mr. Feuerstein. In the evening, when he came homefrom the shop, she told him. 

"There isn't a word of truth in it, mother, " he said. "I don't carewho told you, it's a lie. "

"Your love makes you blind, " answered the mother. "But I can see thather vanity has led her just where vanity always leads--to destruction. "

"Who told you?" he demanded. 

Mrs. Heilig gave him the names of several women. "It is known to all, "she said. 

His impulse was to rush out and trace down the lie to its author. Buthe soon realized the folly of such an attempt. He would only aggravatethe gossip and the scandal, give the scandal-mongers a new chapter fortheir story. Yet he could not rest without doing something. 

He went to Hilda--she had been most friendly toward him since the dayhe helped her with her lover. He asked her to walk with him in theSquare. When they were alone, he began: "Hilda, you believe I'm yourfriend, don't you?"

She looked as if she feared he were about to reopen the old subject. 

"No--I'm not going to worry you, " he said in answer to the look. "Imean just friend. "

"I know you are, Otto, " she replied with tears in her eyes. "You areindeed my friend. I've counted on you ever since you--ever since thatSunday. "

"Then you won't think wrong of me if I ask you a question? You'll knowI wouldn't, if I didn't have a good reason, even though I can'texplain?"

"Yes--what is it?"

"Hilda, is--is Mr. Feuerstein coming back?"

Hilda flushed. "Yes, Otto, " she said. "I haven't spoken to any oneabout it, but I can trust you. He's had trouble and it has called himaway. But he told me he'd come back. " She looked at him appealingly. "You know that I love him, Otto. Some day you will like him, will seewhat a noble man he is. "

"When is he coming back?"

"I didn't ask him. I knew he'd come as soon as he could. I wouldn'tpry into his affairs. "

"Then you don't know why he went or when he's coming?"

"I trust him, just as you'll want a girl to trust you some day when youlove her. "

As soon as he could leave her, he went up town, straight to the GermanTheater. In the box-office sat a young man with hair precisely partedin the middle and sleeked down in two whirls brought low on hisforehead. 

"I'd like to get Mr. Feuerstein's address, " said Otto. 

"That dead-beat?" the young man replied contemptuously. "I suppose hegot into you like he did into every one else. Yes, you can have hisaddress. And give him one for me when you catch him. He did me out often dollars. "

Otto went on to the boarding-house in East Sixteenth Street. No, Mr. Feuerstein was not in and it was not known when he would return--he wasvery uncertain. Otto went to Stuyvesant Square and seated himselfwhere he could see the stoop of the boarding-house. An hour, twohours, two hours and a half passed, and then his patient attitudechanged abruptly to action. He saw the soft light hat and the yellowbush coming toward him. Mr. Feuerstein paled slightly as he recognizedOtto. 

"I'm not going to hurt you, " said Otto in a tone which Mr. Feuersteinwished he had the physical strength to punish. "Sit down here--I'vegot something to say to you. "

"I'm in a great hurry. Really, you'll have to come again. "

But Otto's look won. Mr. Feuerstein hesitated, seated himself. 

"I want to tell you, " said Otto quietly, "that as the result of yourgoing away so suddenly and not coming back a wicked lying story isgoing round about Hilda. She does not know it yet, but it won't belong before something will be said--maybe publicly. And it will breakher heart. "

"I can't discuss her with you, " said Mr. Feuerstein. "Doubtless youmean well. I'm obliged to you for coming. I'll see. " He rose. 

"Is that all?" said Otto. 

"What more can I say?"

"But what are you going to DO?"

"I don't see how I can prevent a lot of ignorant people from gossiping. "

"Then you're not going straight down there? You're not going to dowhat a man'd do if he had the decency of a dog?"

"You are insulting! But because I believe you mean well, I shall tellyou that it is impossible for me to go for several days at least. Assoon as I honorably can, I shall come and the scandal will vanish likesmoke. "

Otto let him go. "I mustn't thrash him, and I can't compel him to bea man. " He returned to the German Theater; he must learn all he couldabout this Feuerstein. 

"Did you see him?" asked the ticket-seller. 

"Yes, but I didn't get anything. "

Otto looked so down that the ticket-seller was moved to pity, togenerosity. 

"Well, I'll give you a tip. Keep after him; keep your eye on him. He's got a rich father-in-law. "

Otto leaned heavily on the sill of the little window. "Father-in-law?"A sickening suspicion peered into his mind. 

"He was full the other night and he told one of our people he wasmarried to a rich man's daughter. "

"Was the name Brauner?" asked Otto. 

"He didn't name any names. But--let me think--they say it's a daughterof a brewer, away up town. Yes, Ganser--I think that was the name. "

"Oh!" Otto's face brightened. "Where is Ganser's place?" he asked. 

"I don't know--look in the directory. But the tip is to wait a fewdays. He hasn't got hold of any of the old man's money yet--there'ssome hitch. There'll be plenty for all when it comes, so you needn'tfret. "

Otto went to the brewery, but Peter had gone home. Otto went on to thehouse and Peter came down to the brilliant parlor, where the battle ofhostile shades and colors was raging with undiminished fury. In answerto Peter's look of inquiry, he said: "I came about your son-in-law, Mr. Feuerstein. "

"Who are you? Who told you?" asked Peter, wilting into a chair. 

"They told me at the theater. "

Peter gave a sort of groan. "It's out!" he cried, throwing up histhick, short arms. "Everybody knows!"

Shrewd Otto saw the opening. "I don't think so, " he replied, "at leastnot yet. He has a bad reputation--I see you know that already. Butit's nothing to what he will have when it comes out that he's beentrying to marry a young lady down town since he married your daughter. "

"But it mustn't come out!" exclaimed Ganser. "I won't have it. Thisscandal has disgraced me enough. "

"That's what I came to see you about, " said Otto. "The young lady andher friends don't know about his marriage. It isn't necessary that anyof them should know, except her. But she must be put on her guard. Hemight induce her to run away with him. "

"Rindsvieh!" muttered Ganser, his hair and whiskers bristling. "Dreck!"

"I want to ask you, as a man and a father, to see that this young ladyis warned. She'll be anxious enough to keep quiet. If you do, therewon't be any scandal--at least not from there. "

"I'll go down and warn her. Where is she? I'll speak to her father. "

"And have him make a row? No, there's only one way. Send yourdaughter to her. "

"But you don't know my daughter. She's a born--" Just in time Ganserremembered that he was talking to a stranger and talking about hisdaughter. "She wouldn't do it right, " he finished. 

"She can go in and see the young lady alone and come out withoutspeaking to anybody else. I'll promise you there'll be no risk. "

Ganser thought it over and decided to take Otto's advice. Theydiscussed Mr. Feuerstein for several minutes, and when Otto left, Ganser followed him part of the way down the stoop, shaking hands withhim. It was a profound pleasure to the brewer to be able to speak hismind on the subject of his son-in-law to an intelligent, appreciativeperson. He talked nothing else to his wife and Lena, but he had thefeeling that he might as well talk aloud to himself. 

After supper--the Gansers still had supper in the evening, theirfashionable progress in that direction having reached only the stage atwhich dinner is called luncheon--he put Lena into the carriage and theydrove to Avenue A. On the way he told her exactly what to say and do. He stayed in the carriage. "Be quick, " he said, "and no foolishness!"

Lena, swelling and rustling with finery and homelier than before hertroubles, little though they disturbed her, marched into the shop andup to the end counter, where Hilda was standing. 

"You are Miss Hilda Brauner?" she said. "I want to see you alone. "

Hilda looked her surprise but showed Lena into the living-room, whichhappened to be vacant. Lena could not begin, so intent was she uponexamining her rival. "How plain she's dressed, " she thought, "and howthin and black she is!" But it was in vain; she could not deceive herrising jealousy. It made her forget her father's instructions, forgetthat she was supposed to hate Feuerstein and was getting rid of him. 

"I am Mrs. Carl Feuerstein, " she cried, her face red and her voiceshrill with anger and excitement. "And I want you to stop flirtingwith my husband!"

Hilda stood petrified. Lena caught sight of a photograph on themantelpiece behind Hilda. She gave a scream of fury and darted for it. "How dare you!" she shrieked. "You impudent THING!" She snatched theframe, tore it away from the photograph and flung it upon the floor. Asshe gazed at that hair like a halo of light, at those romantic featuresand upturned eyes, she fell to crying and kissing them. 

Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy face, tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling upon thelikeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her face like athunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great eyes flashing. "You lie!" she exclaimed. And she tore the photograph from Lena'shands and clasped it to her bosom. 

Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. "He's myhusband, " she whined. "You haven't got any right to his picture. "

"You lie!" repeated Hilda, throwing back her head. 

"It's the truth, " said Lena, beginning to cry. "I swear to God it'sso. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the brewer. "

"Who sent you here to lie about him to me?"

"Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't wonderyou're mad. He's MY husband, while he's only been making a fool ofYOU. You haven't got any shame. " Lena's eyes were on the photographagain and her jealousy over-balanced fear. She laughed tauntingly. 

"Of course you're trying to brazen it out. Give me that picture! He'smy husband!"

Just then Ganser appeared in the doorway--he did not trust his daughterand had followed her when he thought she was staying too long. Atsight of him she began to weep again. "She won't believe me, pa, " shesaid. "Look at her standing there hugging his picture. "

Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, "It'strue, Miss, " he said. "The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter towarn you. "

Hilda looked at him haughtily. "I don't know you, " she said, "and I doknow him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I doknow that I'd trust him against the whole world. " She glanced fromfather to daughter. "You haven't done him any harm and you might aswell go. "

Peter eyed her in disgust. "You're as big a fool as my Lena, " he said. "Come on, Lena. "

As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. "He'sMY husband, " she said spitefully, "and you're--well, I wouldn't want tosay what you are. "

"Move!" shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shotat Hilda was: "Ask him. "

Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway throughwhich they had disappeared. "You lie!" she repeated, as if they werestill there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: "You lie!" Andafter a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: "Youlie! I know you lie!" She sat at the table and held the photographbefore her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing inthose bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him. 

Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out intothe street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyalto him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on untilshe came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened theparlor door and called through the crack: "Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wantsto see you. "

As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuersteinappeared. At sight of her he started back. "Hilda!" he exclaimedtheatrically, and frowned. 

"Don't be angry with me, " she said humbly. "I wouldn't have come, only--"

"You must go at once!" His tone was abrupt, irritated. 

"Yes--I will. I just wanted to warn you--" She raised her eyesappealingly toward his face. "Two people came to see me to-night--Mr. Ganser and his daughter--"

Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and thathis face had become greenish white. "It's false!" he blustered. "False as hell!--"

And she knew that it was true. 

She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. "Whatdid they tell you?" he said, after a long pause, remembering that hehad denied before a charge had been made. 

She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him. "I must go, " she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop. 

He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. "Hilda!" he pleaded. "Let me explain!"

"Don't touch me!" She snatched her arm away from him. She ran downthe rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to theshadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head, feeling that the eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. Shehid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bedshe sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, rackedwith the pain of her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride, to self-respect. "Oh, God, let me die, " she moaned. "I can't everlook anybody in the face again. "

VIII

A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS

A few days later Peter Ganser appeared before Beck, triumph flauntingfrom his stupid features. Beck instantly scented bad news. 

"Stop the case, " said Peter with a vulgar insolence that grated uponthe lawyer. "It's no good. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Ganser. I don't follow you. "

"But I follow myself. Stop the case. I pay you off now. "

"You can't deal with courts as you can with your employees, Mr. Ganser. There are legal forms to be gone through. Of course, if you'rereconciled to your son-in-law, why--"

Peter laughed. "Son-in-law! That scoundrel--he's a bigamist. I gotthe proofs from Germany this morning. "

Beck became blue round the edges of his mouth and his eyes snapped. "So you've been taking steps in this case without consulting me, Mr. Ganser?"

"I don't trust lawyers. Anyway, what I hire you for? To try my case. It's none of your business what I do outside. I pay you off, and Idon't pay for any dirty works I don't get. " He had wrought himselfinto a fury. Experience had taught him that that was the best mood inwhich to conduct an argument about money. 

"We'll send you your bill, " said Beck, in a huge, calm rage againstthis dull man who had outwitted him. "If you wish to make a scene, will you kindly go elsewhere?"

"I want to pay you off--right away quick. I think you and Loeb incahoots. My detective, he says you both must have known aboutFeuerstein. He says you two were partners and knew his record. I'llexpose you, if you don't settle now. Give me my bill. "

"It is impossible. " Beck's tone was mild and persuasive. "All theitems are not in. "

Ganser took out a roll of notes. "I pay you five hundred dollars. Take it or fight. I want a full receipt. I discharge you now. "

"My dear sir, we do not give our services for any such sum as that. "

"Yes you do. And you don't get a cent more. If I go out of herewithout my full receipt, I fight. I expose you, you swindler. "

Peter was shouting at the top of his lusty lungs. Beck wrote a receiptand handed it to him. Peter read it and handed it back. "I'm not asbig a fool as I look, " he said. "That ain't a full receipt. "

Beck wrote again. "Anything to get you out of the office, " he said, ashe tossed the five hundred dollars into a drawer. "And when yourfamily gets you into trouble again--"

Peter snorted. "Shut up!" he shouted, banging his fist on the desk. "And don't you tell the papers. If anything come out, I expose you. My lawyer, Mr. Windisch, say he can have you put out of court. " AndPeter bustled and slammed his way out. 

Beck telephoned Loeb, and they took lunch together. "Ganser has foundout about Feuerstein's wife, " was Beck's opening remark. 

Loeb drew his lip back over his teeth. 

"I wish I'd known it two hours sooner. I let Feuerstein have tendollars more. "

"More?"

"More. He's had ninety-five on account. I relied on you to handle thebrewer. "

"And we're out our expenses in getting ready for trial. "

"Well--you'll send Ganser a heavy bill. "

Beck shook his head dismally. "That's the worst of it. He called me aswindler, said he'd show that you and I were in a conspiracy, and daredme to send him a bill. And in the circumstances I don't think I will. "

Loeb gave Beck a long and searching look which Beck bore withoutflinching. 

"No, I don't think you will send him a bill, " said Loeb slowly. "Buthow much did he pay you?"

"Not a cent--nothing but insults. "

Loeb finished his luncheon in silence. But he and Beck separated onthe friendliest terms. Loeb was too practical a philosopher to hateanother man for doing that which he would have done himself if he hadhad the chance. At his office he told a clerk to send Feuerstein anote, asking him to call the next morning. When Feuerstein came intothe anteroom the gimlet-eyed office boy disappeared through one of thedoors in the partition and reappeared after a longer absence thanusual. He looked at Feuerstein with a cynical, contemptuous smile inhis eyes. 

"Mr. Loeb asks me to tell you, " he said, "with his compliments, thatyou are a bigamist and a swindler, and that if you ever show your facehere again he'll have you locked up. "

Feuerstein staggered and paled--there was no staginess in his manner. Then without a word he slunk away. He had not gone far up CenterStreet before a hand was laid upon his shoulder from behind. Hestopped as if he had been shot; he shivered; he slowly, and with a lookof fascinated horror, turned to see whose hand had arrested him. 

He was looking into the laughing face of a man who was obviously adetective. 

"You don't seem glad to see me, old boy, " said the detective withcontemptuous familiarity. 

"I don't know you, sir. " Feuerstein made a miserable attempt athaughtiness. 

"Of course you don't. But I know YOU--all about you. Come in here andlet's sit down a minute. "

They went into a saloon and the detective ordered two glasses of beer. "Now listen to me, young fellow, " he said. 

"You're played out in this town. You've got to get a move on you, see?We've been looking you up, and you're wanted for bigamy. But if youclear out, you won't be followed. You've got to leave today, understand? If you're here to-morrow morning, up the road you go. "The detective winked and waggled his thumb meaningly in a northerlydirection. 

Feuerstein was utterly crushed. He gulped down the beer and sat wipingthe sweat from his face. "I have done nothing, " he protested in tragictones. "Why am I persecuted--I, poor, friendless, helpless?"

"Pity about you, " said the detective. 

"You'd better go west and start again. Why not try honest work? It'snot so bad, they say, once you get broke in. " He rose and shook handswith Feuerstein. "So long, " he said. "Good luck! Don't forget!" Andagain he winked and waggled his thumb in the direction of thepenitentiary. 

Feuerstein went to his lodgings, put on all the clothes he could wearwithout danger of attracting his landlady's attention, filled hispockets and the crown of his hat with small articles, and fled toHoboken. 

IX

AN IDYL OF PLAIN PEOPLE

Hilda had not spent her nineteen years in the glare of the Spartanpublicity in which the masses live without establishing a character. Just as she knew all the good points and bad in all the people of thatcommunity, so they knew all hers, and therefore knew what it waspossible for her to do and what impossible. And if a baseless lie isswift of foot where everybody minutely scrutinizes everybody else, itis also scant of breath. Sophie's scandal soon dwindled to a whisperand expired, and the kindlier and probable explanation of Hilda's wanface and downcast eyes was generally accepted. 

Her code of morals and her method of dealing with moral questions werethose of all the people about her--strict, severe, primitive. Feuerstein was a cheat, a traitor. She cast him out of her heart--casthim out at once and utterly and for ever. She could think of him onlywith shame. And it seemed to her that she was herself no longerpure--she had touched pitch; how could she be undefiled?

She accepted these conclusions and went about her work, too busy toindulge in hysteria of remorse, repining, self-examination. 

She avoided Otto, taking care not to be left alone with him when hecalled on Sundays, and putting Sophie between him and her when he cameup to them in the Square. But Otto was awaiting his chance, and whenit came, plunged boldly into his heart-subject and floundered bravelyabout. "I don't like to see you so sad, Hilda. Isn't there any chancefor me? Can't things be as they used to be?"

Hilda shook her head sadly. "I'm never going to marry, " she said. "You must find some one else. "

"It's you or nobody. I said that when we were in school togetherand--I'll stick to it. " His eyes confirmed his words. 

"You mustn't, Otto. You make me feel as if I were spoiling your life. And if you knew, you wouldn't want to marry me. "

"I don't care. I always have, and I always will. "

"I suppose I ought to tell you, " she said, half to herself. She turnedto him suddenly, and, with flushed cheeks and eyes that shifted, burstout: "Otto, he was a married man!"

"But you didn't know. "

"It doesn't change the way I feel. You might--any man might--throw itup to me. And sooner or later, everybody'll know. No man would want agirl that had had a scandal like that on her. "

"I would, " he said, "and I do. And it isn't a scandal. "

Some one joined them and he had no chance to continue until thefollowing Sunday, when Heiligs and Brauners went together to the Bronxfor a half-holiday. They could not set out until their shops closed, at half-past twelve, and they had to be back at five to reopen for theSunday supper customers. They lunched under the trees in the yard of aGerman inn, and a merry party they were. 

Hilda forgot to keep up her pretense that her healing wounds were nothealing and never would heal. She teased Otto and even flirted withhim. This elevated her father and his mother to hilarity. They weretwo very sensible young-old people, with a keen sense of humor--theexperience of age added to the simplicity and gaiety of youth. 

You would have paused to admire and envy had you passed that way andlooked in under the trees, as they clinked glasses and called one toanother and went off into gales of mirth over nothing at all. Whatlaughter is so gay as laughter at nothing at all? Any one must laughwhen there is something to laugh at; but to laugh just because one musthave an outlet for bubbling spirits there's the test of happiness!

After luncheon they wandered into the woods and soon Otto and Hildafound themselves alone, seated by a little waterfall, which in a quiet, sentimental voice suggested that low tones were the proper tones to usein that place. 

"We've known each other always, Hilda, " said Otto. "And we know allabout each other. Why not--dear?"

She did not speak for several minutes. 

"You know I haven't any heart to give you, " she answered at last. 

Otto did not know anything of the kind, but he knew she thought so, andhe was too intelligent to dispute, when time would settle thequestion--and, he felt sure, would settle it right. So he reached outand took her hand and said: "I'll risk that. "

And they sat watching the waterfall and listening to it, and they werehappy in a serious, tranquil way. It filled him with awe to think thathe had at last won her. As for her, she was looking forward, withoutillusions, without regrets, to a life of work and content beside thisstrong, loyal, manly man who protested little, but never failed her orany one else. 

On the way home in the train she told her mother, and her mother toldher father. He, then and there, to the great delight and pleasure ofthe others in the car, rose up and embraced and kissed first hisdaughter, then Otto and then Otto's mother. And every once in a whilehe beamed down the line of his party and said: "This is a happy day!"

And he made them all come into the sitting-room back of the shop. "Waithere, " he commanded. "No one must move!"

He went down to the cellar, presently to reappear with a dusty bottleof Johannisberger Cabinet. He pointed proudly to the seal. "Bronze!"he exclaimed. "It is wine like gold. It must be drunk slowly. " Hedrew the cork and poured the wine with great ceremony, and they alldrank with much touching of glasses and bowing and exchanging of goodwishes, now in German, now in English, again in both. And the lasttoast, the one drunk with the greatest enthusiasm, was Brauner'sfavorite famous "Arbeit und Liebe und Heim!"

From that time forth Hilda began to look at Otto from a different pointof view. And everything depends on point of view. 

Then--the house in which Schwartz and Heilig had their shop was burned. And when their safe was drawn from the ruins, they found that theirinsurance had expired four days before the fire. It was Schwartz'sbusiness to look after the insurance, but Otto had never before failedto oversee. His mind had been in such confusion that he had forgotten. 

He stared at the papers, stunned by the disaster. Schwartz wrung hishands and burst into tears. "I saw that you were in trouble, " hewailed, "and that upset me. It's my fault. I've ruined us both. "

There was nothing left of their business or capital, nothing but sevenhundred dollars in debts to the importers of whom they bought. 

Heilig shook off his stupor after a few minutes. "No matter, " hesaid. "What's past is past. "

He went straightway over to Second Avenue to the shop of Geishener, thelargest delicatessen dealer in New York. 

"I've been burned out, " he explained. "I must get something to do. "

Geishener offered him a place at eleven dollars a week. "I'll begin inthe morning, " said Otto. Then he went to Paul Brauner. 

"When will you open up again?" asked Brauner. 

"Not for a long time, several years. Everything's gone and I've takena place with Geishener. I came to say that--that I can't marry yourdaughter. "

Brauner did not know what answer to make. He liked Otto and hadconfidence in him. But the masses of the people build their littlefortunes as coral insects build their islands. And Hilda was gettingalong--why, she would be twenty in four months. "I don't know. Idon't know. " Brauner rubbed his head in embarrassment and perplexity. "It's bad--very bad. And everything was running so smoothly. "

Hilda came in. Both men looked at her guiltily. "What is it?" sheasked. And if they had not been mere men they would have noticed achange in her face, a great change, very wonderful and beautiful to see. 

"I came to release you, " said Otto. 

"I've got nothing left--and a lot of debts. I--"

"Yes--I know, " interrupted Hilda. She went up to him and put her armround his neck. "We'll have to begin at the bottom, " she said with agentle, cheerful smile. 

Brauner pretended that he heard some one calling him from the shop. "Yes right away!" he shouted. And when he was alone in the shop hewiped his eyes, not before a large tear had blistered the top sheet ofa pile of wrapping paper. 

"I know you don't care for me as--as"--Otto was standing uneasily, hiseyes down and his face red. "It was hard enough for you before. Now--I couldn't let you do it--dear. "

"You can't get rid of me so easily, " she said. "I know I'm gettingalong and I won't be an old maid. "

He paid no attention to her raillery. "I haven't got anything to askyou to share, " he went on. "I've been working ever since I waseleven--and that's fourteen years--to get what I had. And it's allgone. It'll take several years to pay off my debts, and mother must besupported. No--I've got to give it up. "

"Won't you marry me, Otto?" She put her arms round his neck. 

His lips trembled and his voice broke. "I can't--let you do it, Hilda. "

"Very well. " She pretended to sigh. 

"But you must come back this evening. I want to ask you again. "

"Yes, I'll come. But you can't change me. "

He went, and she sat at the table, with her elbows on it and her facebetween her hands, until her father came in. Then she said: "We'regoing to be married next week. And I want two thousand dollars. We'llgive you our note. "

Brauner rubbed his face violently. 

"We're going to start a delicatessen, " she continued, "in the emptystore where Bischoff was. It'll take two thousand dollars to startright. "

"That's a good deal of money, " objected her father. 

"You only get three and a half per cent. In the savings bank, " repliedHilda. "We'll give you six. You know it'll be safe--Otto and Itogether can't fail to do well. "

Brauner reflected. "You can have the money, " he said. 

She went up the Avenue humming softly one of Heine's love songs, stillwith that wonderful, beautiful look in her eyes. She stopped at thetenement with the vacant store. The owner, old man Schulte, wassweeping the sidewalk. He had an income of fifteen thousand a year;but he held that he needed exercise, that sweeping was good exercise, and that it was stupid for a man, simply because he was rich, to stoptaking exercise or to take it only in some form which had no usefulside. 

"Good morning, " said Hilda. "What rent do you ask for this store?"

"Sixty dollars a month, " answered the old man, continuing his sweeping. "Taxes are up, but rents are down. "

"Not with you, I guess. Otto Heilig and I are going to get married andopen a delicatessen. But sixty dollars a month is too much. Goodmorning. " And she went on. 

Schulte leaned on his broom. "What's your hurry?" he called. "Youcan't get as good a location as this. "

Hilda turned, but seemed to be listening from politeness rather thanfrom interest. 

"We can't pay more than forty, " she answered, starting on her way again. 

"I might let you have it for fifty, " Schulte called after her, "if youdidn't want any fixing up. "

"It'd have to be fixed up, " said Hilda, halting again. "But I don'tcare much for the neighborhood. There are too many delicatessens herenow. "

She went on more rapidly and the old man resumed his sweeping, muttering crossly into his long, white beard. As she came down theother side of the street half an hour later, she was watching Schultefrom the corner of her eye. He was leaning on his broom, watching her. Seeing that she was going to pass without stopping he called to her andwent slowly across the street. "You would make good tenants, " he said. "I had to sue Bischoff. You can have it for forty--if you'll pay forthe changes you want--you really won't want any. "

"I was looking at it early this morning, " replied Hilda. "There'll haveto be at least two hundred dollars spent. But then I've my eye onanother place. "

"Forty's no rent at all, " grumbled the old man, pulling at his whiskers. 

"I can get a store round in Seventh Street for thirty-five and thatincludes three rooms at the back. You've got only one room at theback. "

"There's a kitchen, too, " said Schulte. 

"A kitchen? Oh, you mean that closet. "

"I'll let you have it for forty, with fifty the second year. "

"No, forty for two years. We can't pay more. We're just starting, andexpenses must be kept down. "

"Well, forty then. You are nice people--hard workers. I want to seeyou get on. " The philanthropic old man returned to his sweeping. "Always the way, dealing with a woman, " he growled into his beard. "They don't know the value of anything. Well, I'll get my moneyanyway, and that's a point. "

She spent the day shopping and by half-past five had her arrangementsalmost completed. And she told every one about the coming marriage andthe new shop and asked them to spread the news. 

"We'll be open for business next Saturday a week, " she said. "Give us atrial. "

By nightfall Otto was receiving congratulations. He protested, denied, but people only smiled and winked. "You're not so sly as you think, "they said. "No doubt she promised to keep it quiet, but you know howit is with a woman. "

When he called at Brauner's at seven he was timid about going in. "They've heard the story, " he said to himself, "and they must think Iwent crazy and told it. "

She had been bold enough all day, but she was shy, now that the timehad come to face him and confess--she had been a little shy with himunderneath ever since she had suddenly awakened to the fact that he wasa real hero--in spite of his keeping a shop just like everybody elseand making no pretenses. He listened without a word. 

"You can't back out now, " she ended. 

Still he was silent. "Are you angry at me?" she asked timidly. 

He could not speak. He put his arms round her and pressed his faceinto her waving black hair. "MY Hilda, " he said in a low voice. Andshe felt his blood beating very fast, and she understood. 

"Arbeit und Liebe und Heim, " she quoted slowly and softly. 

X

MR. FEUERSTEIN IS CONSISTENT

The next day Mr. Feuerstein returned from exile. It is alwaysdisillusioning to inspect the unheroic details of the life of thatfavorite figure with romancers--the soldier of fortune. Of Mr. Feuerstein's six weeks in Hoboken it is enough to say that they wereweeks of storm and stress--wretched lodgments in low boarding-houses, odd jobs at giving recitations in beer halls, undignified ejectmentsfor drunkenness and failure to pay, borrowings which were removed fromfrank street-begging only in his imagination. He sank very low indeed, but it must be recorded to the credit of his consistency that he nevereven contemplated the idea of working for a living. And now here hewas, back in New York, with Hoboken an exhausted field, with noresources, no hopes, no future that his brandy-soaked brain coulddiscern. 

His mane was still golden and bushy; but it was ragged and too long infront of the ears and also on his neck. His face still expressedinsolence and vanity; but it had a certain tragic bitterness, as if itwere trying to portray the emotions of a lofty spirit flinging defianceat destiny from a slough of despair. It was plain that he had beendrinking heavily--the whites of his eyes were yellow and bloodshot, themuscles of his eyelids and mouth twitched disagreeably. His romantichat and collar and graceful suit could endure with good countenanceonly the most casual glance of the eye. 

Mr. Feuerstein had come to New York to perform a carefully-planned lastact in his life-drama, one that would send the curtain down amid tearsand plaudits for Mr. Feuerstein, the central figure, enwrapped in asomber and baleful blaze of glory. He had arranged everything exceptsuch details as must be left to the inspiration of the moment. He wasimpatient for the curtain to rise--besides, he had empty pockets andmight be prevented from his climax by a vulgar arrest for vagrancy. 

At one o'clock Hilda was in her father's shop alone. The rest of thefamily were at the midday dinner. As she bent over the counter, nearthe door, she was filling a sheet of wrapping paper withfigures--calculations in connection with the new business. A shadowfell across her paper and she looked up. She shrank and clasped herhands tightly against her bosom. "Mr. Feuerstein!" she exclaimed in alow, agitated voice. 

He stood silent, his face ghastly as if he were very ill. His eyes, sunk deep in blue-black sockets, burned into hers with an intensitythat terrified her. She began slowly to retreat. 

"Do not fly from me, " he said in a hollow voice, leaning against thecounter weakly. "I have come only for a moment. Then--you will see menever again!"

She paused and watched him. His expression, his tone, his words filledher with pity for him. 

"You hate me, " he went on. "You abhor me. It is just--just! Yet"--helooked at her with passionate sadness--"it was because I loved you thatI deceived you. Because--I--loved you!"

"You must go away, " said Hilda, pleading rather than commanding. "You've done me enough harm. "

"I shall harm you no more. " He drew himself up in gloomy majesty. "Ihave finished my life. I am bowing my farewell. Another instant, and Ishall vanish into the everlasting night. "

"That would be cowardly!" exclaimed Hilda. She was profoundly moved. "You have plenty to live for. "

"Do you forgive me, Hilda?" He gave her one of his looks of tragiceloquence. 

"Yes--I forgive you. "

He misunderstood the gentleness of her voice. "She loves me still!" hesaid to himself. "We shall die together and our names will echo downthe ages. " He looked burningly at her and said: "I was mad--mad withlove for you. And when I realized that I had lost you, I went down, down, down. God! What have I not suffered for your sake, Hilda!" Ashe talked he convinced himself, pictured himself to himself as havingbeen drawn on by a passion such as had ruined many others of the greatof earth. 

"That's all past now. " She spoke impatiently, irritated againstherself because she was not hating him. "I don't care to hear any moreof that kind of talk. "

A customer came in, and while Hilda was busy Mr. Feuerstein went to therear counter. On a chopping block lay a knife with a long, thin blade, ground to a fine edge and a sharp point. He began to play with it, andpresently, with a sly, almost insane glance to assure himself that shewas not seeing, slipped it into the right outside pocket of his coat. The customer left and he returned to the front of the shop and stoodwith just the breadth of the end of the narrow counter between him andher. 

"It's all over for me, " he began. "Your love has failed me. There isnothing left. I shall fling myself through the gates of death. Ishall be forgotten. And you will live on and laugh and not rememberthat you ever had such love as mine. "

Another customer entered. Mr. Feuerstein again went to the rear of thespace outside the counters. "She loves me. She will gladly die withme, " he muttered. "First into HER heart, then into mine, and we shallbe at peace, dead, as lovers and heroes die!"

When they were again alone, he advanced and began to edge round the endof the counter. She was no longer looking at him, did not note hisexcitement, was thinking only of how to induce him to go. "Hilda, " hesaid, "I have one last request--a dying man's request--"

The counter was no longer between them. He was within three feet ofher. His right hand was in his coat pocket, grasping the knife. Hiseyes began to blaze and he nerved himself to seize her--

Both heard her father's voice in the hall leading to the sitting-room. "You must go, " she cried, hastily retreating. 

"Hilda, " he pleaded rapidly, "there is something I must say to you. Ican not say it here. Come over to Meinert's as soon as you can. Ishall be in the sitting-room. Just for a moment, Hilda. It might savemy life. If not that, it certainly would make my death happier. "

Brauner was advancing into the shop and his lowering face warned Mr. Feuerstein not to linger. With a last, appealing look at Hilda hedeparted. 

"What was HE doing here?" growled Brauner. 

"He'd just come in, " answered Hilda absently. "He won't bother us anymore. "

"If he comes again, don't speak to him, " said Brauner in the commandingvoice that sounded so fierce and meant so little. "Just call me orAugust. "

Hilda could not thrust him out of her mind. His looks, his tones, hisdramatic melancholy saddened her; and his last words rang in her ears. She no longer loved him; but she HAD loved him. She could not think ofhim as a stranger and an enemy--there might be truth in his plea thathe had in some mysterious way fallen through love for her. She mightbe able to save him. 

Almost mechanically she left the shop, went to Sixth Street and to the"family entrance" of Meinert's beer-garden. She went into the littleanteroom and, with her hand on the swinging door leading to thesitting-room, paused like one waking from a dream. 

"I must be crazy, " she said half aloud. "He's a scoundrel and no goodcan come of my seeing him. What would Otto think of me? What am Idoing here?" And she hastened away, hoping that no one had seen her. 

Mr. Feuerstein was seated at a table a few feet from where she hadpaused and turned back. He had come in half an hour before and hadordered and drunk three glasses of cheap, fiery brandy. As the momentspassed his mood grew wilder and more somber. "She has failed me!" heexclaimed. He called for pen, ink and paper. He wrote rapidly and, when he had finished, declaimed his production, punctuating thesentences with looks and gestures. His voice gradually broke, and heuttered the last words with sobs and with the tears streaming down hischeeks. He signed his name with a flourish, added a postscript. Hetook a stamped envelope from his pocket, sealed the letter, addressedit and laid it before him on the table. "The presence of deathinspired me, " he said, looking at his production with tragic pride. And he called for another drink. 

When the waiter brought it, he lifted it high and, standing up, bowedas if some one were opposite him at the table. "I drink to you, Death!" he said. The waiter stared in open-mouthed astonishment, andwith a muttered, "He's luny!" backed from the room. 

He sat again and drew the knife from his pocket and slid his fingeralong the edge. "The key to my sleeping-room, " he muttered, halfimagining that a vast audience was watching with bated breath. 

The waiter entered and he hid the knife. 

"Away!" he exclaimed, frowning heavily. "I wish to be alone. "

"Mr. Meinert says you must pay, " said the waiter. "Four drinks--sixtycents. "

Mr. Feuerstein laughed sardonically. 

"Pay! Ha--ha! Always pay! Another drink, wretch, and I shall pay forall--for all!" He laughed, with much shaking of the shoulders androlling of the eyes. 

When the waiter had disappeared he muttered: "I can wait no longer. "He took the knife, held it at arm's length, blade down. He turned hishead to the left and closed his eyes. Then with a sudden tremendousdrive he sent the long, narrow blade deep into his neck. The bloodspurted out, his breath escaped from between his lips with long, shuddering, subsiding hisses. His body stiffened, collapsed, rolled tothe floor. 

Mr. Feuerstein was dead--with empty pockets and the drinks unpaid for. 

XI

MR. FEUERSTEIN'S CLIMAX

When Otto came to see Hilda that evening she was guiltily effusive inher greeting and made up her mind that, as soon as they were alone, shemust tell him what she had all but done. But first there was the gameof pinochle which Otto must lose to her father. As they sat at theirgame she was at the zither-table, dreamily playing May Breezes as shewatched Otto and thought how much more comfortable she was in hisstrong, loyal love than in the unnatural strain of Mr. Feuerstein'secstasies. "'Work and love and home, '" she murmured, in time to hermusic. "Yes, father is right. They ARE the best. "

August came in and said: "Hilda, here are two men who want to see you. "

As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto satstaring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives--"plainclothes men" from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be nochance of mistake about those police mustaches and jaws, those wide, square-toed, police shoes. 

"My name is Casey and this is my side-partner, Mr. O'Rourke, " said theshorter and fatter of the two as they seated themselves without waitingto be asked. Casey took off his hat; O'Rourke's hand hesitated at thebrim, then drew his hat more firmly down upon his forehead. "Sorry tobreak in on your little party, " Casey went on, "but the Cap'n sent usto ask the young lady a few questions. "

Hilda grew pale and her father and Otto looked frightened. 

"Do you know an actor named Feuerstein?" asked Casey. 

Hilda trembled. She could not speak. She nodded assent. 

"Did you see him to-day?"

"Yes, " almost whispered Hilda. 

Casey looked triumphantly at O'Rourke. Otto half rose, then sank backagain. "Where did you see him?" asked Casey. 

"Here. "

"Where else?"

Hilda nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. "Only here, " sheanswered after a pause. 

"Ah, yes you did. Come now, lady. Speak the truth. You saw him atMeinert's. "

Hilda started violently. The detectives exchanged significant glances. "No, " she protested. "I saw him only here. "

"Were you out of the store this afternoon?"

A long pause, then a faint "Yes. "

"Where did you go?" Casey added. 

The blood flew to Hilda's face, then left it. "To Meinert's, " sheanswered. "But only as far as the door. "

"Oh!" said Casey sarcastically, and O'Rourke laughed. "It's no use tohold back, lady, " continued Casey. "We know all about your movements. You went in Meinert's--in at the family entrance. "

"Yes, " replied Hilda. She was shaking as if she were having a chill. "But just to the door, then home again. "

"Now, that won't do, " said Casey roughly. "You'd better tell the wholestory. "

"Tell them all about it, Hilda, " interposed her father in an agonizedtone. 

"Don't hold back anything. "

"Oh--father--Otto--it was nothing. I didn't go in. He--Mr. Feuerstein--came here, and he looked so sick, and he begged me to comeover to Meinert's for a minute. He said he had something to say tome. And then I went. But at the door I got to thinking about all he'ddone, and I wouldn't go in. I just came back home. "

"What was it that he had done, lady?" asked O'Rourke. 

"I won't tell, " Hilda flashed out, and she started up. "It's nobody'sbusiness. Why do you ask me all these questions? I won't answer anymore. "

"Now, now, lady, " said Casey. "Just keep cool. When you went, whatdid you take a knife from the counter for?"

"A knife!" Hilda gasped, and she would have fallen to the floor had notOtto caught her. 

"That settles it!" said Casey, in an undertone to O'Rourke. "She's it, all right. I guess she's told us enough?"

O'Rourke nodded. "The Cap'n'll get the rest out of her when he putsher through the third degree. "

They rose and Casey said, with the roughness of one who is afraid ofhis inward impulses to gentleness: "Come, lady, get on your things. You're going along with us. "

"No! No!" she cried in terror, flinging herself into her father's arms. 

Brauner blazed up. "What do you mean?" he demanded, facing thedetectives. 

"You'll find out soon enough, " said Casey in a blustering tone. "Theless fuss you make, the better it'll be for you. She's got to go, andthat's all there is to it. "

"This is an outrage, " interrupted Otto, rushing between Hilda and thedetectives. 

"You daren't take her without telling her why. You can't treat us likedogs. "

"Drop it!" said Casey contemptuously. "Drop it, Dutchy. I guess weknow what we're about. "

"Yes--and I know what _I_'m about, " exclaimed Otto. "Do you knowRiordan, the district leader here? Well, he's a friend of mine. If wehaven't got any rights you police are bound to respect, thank God, we've got a 'pull'. "

"That's a bluff, " said Casey, but his tone was less insolent. "Well, ifyou must know, she's wanted for the murder of Carl Feuerstein. "

Hilda flung her arms high above her head and sank into a chair andburied her face. "It's a dream!" she moaned. "Wake me--wake me!"

Otto and Brauner looked each at the other in horror. "Murder!"whispered Brauner hoarsely. "My Hilda--murder!"

Otto went to Hilda and put his arms about her tightly and kissed her. 

"She's got to come, " said Casey angrily. "Now, will she go quietly orshall I call the wagon?"

This threat threw them into a panic. "You'd better go, " said Otto inan undertone to Hilda. "Don't be frightened, dear. You're innocent andthey can't prove you guilty. You're not poor and friendless. "

At the pressure of his arms Hilda lifted her face, her eyes shining athim through her tears. And her heart went out to him as never before. From that moment it was his, all his. "My love, my dear love, " shesaid. She went to the closet and took out her hat. She put it onbefore the mirror over the mantelpiece. "I'm ready, " she said quietly. 

In the street, she walked beside Casey; her father and Otto were closebehind with O'Rourke. They turned into Sixth Street. Half a blockdown, in front of Meinert's, a crowd was surging, was filling sidewalkand street. When they came to the edge of it, Casey suddenly said "Inhere" and took her by the arm. All went down a long and windingpassage, across an open court to a back door where a policeman inuniform was on guard. 

"Did you get her, Mike?" said the policeman to Casey. 

"Here she is, " replied Casey. "She didn't give no trouble. "

The policeman opened the door. He let Casey, Hilda and O'Rourke pass. He thrust back Brauner and Otto. "No, you don't, " he said. 

"Let us in!" commanded Otto, beside himself with rage. 

"Not much! Get back!" He had closed the door and was standing betweenit and them, one hand meaningly upon the handle of his sheathed club. 

"I am her father, " half-pleaded, half-protested Brauner. 

"Cap'n's orders, " said the policeman in a gentler voice. "The bestthing you can do is to go to the station house and wait there. Youwon't get to see her here. "

Meanwhile Casey, still holding Hilda by the arm, was guiding her alonga dark hall. When they touched a door he threw it open. He pushed herroughly into the room. For a few seconds the sudden blaze of lightblinded her. Then--

Before her, stretched upon a table, was--Mr. Feuerstein. She shrankback and gazed at him with wide, fascinated eyes. His face was turnedtoward her, his eyes half-open; he seemed to be regarding her with aglassy, hateful stare--the "curse in a dead man's eye. " His chin wasfallen back and down, and his lips exposed his teeth in a hideous grin. And then she saw-- Sticking upright from his throat was a knife, theknife from their counter. It seemed to her to be trembling as if stillagitated from the hand that had fiercely struck out his life. 

"My God!" moaned Hilda, sinking down to the floor and hiding her face. 

As she crouched there, Casey said cheerfully to Captain Hanlon, "Yousee she's guilty all right, Cap'n. "

Hanlon took his cigar from between his teeth and nodded. At this a mansitting near him burst out laughing. Hanlon scowled at him. 

The man--Doctor Wharton, a deputy coroner--laughed again. "I supposeyou think she acts guilty, " he said to Hanlon. 

"Any fool could see that, " retorted Hanlon. 

"Any fool would see it, you'd better say, " said Doctor Wharton. "Nomatter how she took it, you fellows would wag your heads and say'Guilty. '"

Hanlon looked uneasily at Hilda, fearing she would draw encouragementfrom Wharton's words. But Hilda was still moaning. "Lift her up andset her in a chair, " he said to Casey. 

Hilda recovered herself somewhat and sat before the captain, her eyesdown, her fluttering hands loose in her lap. "What was the troublebetween you and him?" Hanlon asked her presently in a not unkindlytone. 

"Must I tell?" pleaded Hilda, looking piteously at the captain. "Idon't know anything about this except that he came into our store andtold me he was going to--to--"

She looked at Feuerstein's dead face and shivered. And as she looked, memories flooded her, drowning resentment and fear. She rose, wentslowly up to him; she laid her hand softly upon his brow, pushed backhis long, yellow hair. The touch of her fingers seemed to smooth thewild, horrible look from his features. As she gazed down at him thetears welled into her eyes. "I won't talk against him, " she saidsimply. "He's dead--it's all over and past. "

"She ought to go on the stage, " growled Casey. 

But Wharton said in an unsteady voice, "That's right, Miss. They can'tforce you to talk. Don't say a word until you get a lawyer. "

Hanlon gave him a furious look. "Don't you meddle in this, " he saidthreateningly. 

Wharton laughed. "The man killed himself, " he replied. "I can tell bythe slant of the wound. And I don't propose to stand by and see yougiving your third degree to this little girl. "

"We've got the proof, I tell you, " said Hanlon. "We've got a witnesswho saw her do it--or at least saw her here when she says she wasn'there. "

Wharton shrugged his shoulders. 

"Don't say a word, " he said to Hilda. "Get a lawyer. "

"I don't want a lawyer, " she answered. 

"I'm not guilty. Why should I get a lawyer?"

"Well, at any rate, do all your talking in court. These fellows willtwist everything you say. "

"Take her to the station house, " interrupted Hanlon. 

"But I'm innocent, " said Hilda, clasping her hands on her heart andlooking appealingly at the captain. 

"Take her along, Casey. "

Casey laid hold of her arm, but she shook him off. They went throughthe sitting-room of the saloon and out at the side door. When Hilda sawthe great crowd she covered her face with her hands and shrank back. "There she is! There she is! They're taking her to the stationhouse!" shouted the crowd. 

Casey closed the door. "We'll have to get the wagon, " he said. 

They sat waiting until the patrol wagon came. Then Hilda, half-carried by Casey, crossed the sidewalk through a double line ofblue coats who fought back the frantically curious, pushed on by thosebehind. In the wagon she revived and by the time they reached thestation house, seemed calm. Another great crowd was pressing in; sheheard cries of "There's the girl that killed him!" She drew herself uphaughtily, looked round with defiance, with indignation. 

Her father and Otto rushed forward as soon as she entered the doors. She broke down again. "Take me home! Take me home!" she sobbed. "I've not done anything. " The men forgot that they had promised eachthe other to be calm, and cursed and cried alternately. The matroncame, spoke to her gently. 

"You'll have to go now, child, " she said. 

Hilda kissed her father, then she and Otto clasped each the otherclosely. "It'll turn out all right, dear, " he said. "We're having astreak of bad luck. But our good luck'll be all the better when itcomes. "

Strength and hope seemed to pass from him into her. She walked awayfirmly and the last glimpse they had of her sad sweet young face was aglimpse of a brave little smile trying to break through its gray gloom. But alone in her cell, seated upon the board that was her bed, herdisgrace and loneliness and danger took possession of her. She was achild of the people, brought up to courage and self-reliance. Shecould be brave and calm before false accusers, before staring crowds. But here, with a dim gas-jet revealing the horror of grated bars andiron ceiling, walls and floor--

She sat there, hour after hour, sleepless, tearless, her brain burning, the cries of drunken prisoners in adjoining cells sounding in her earslike the shrieks of the damned. Seconds seemed moments, momentshours. "I'm dreaming, " she said aloud at last. She started up andhurled herself against the bars, beating them with her hands. "I mustwake or I'll die. Oh, the disgrace! Oh! the shame!"

And she flung herself into a corner of the bench, to dread the timewhen the darkness and the loneliness would cease to hide her. 

XII

EXIT MR. FEUERSTEIN

The matron brought her up into the front room of the station house ateight in the morning. Casey looked at her haggard face with anexpression of satisfaction. "Her nerve's going, " he said to thesergeant. "I guess she'll break down and confess to-day. "

They drove her to court in a Black Maria, packed among thieves, drunkards and disorderly characters. Upon her right side pressed aslant-faced youth with a huge nose and wafer-thin, flapping ears, whohad snatched a purse in Houston Street. On her left, lolling againsther, was an old woman in dirty calico, with a faded black bonnetludicrously awry upon scant white hair--a drunkard released from theIsland three days before and certain to be back there by noon. 

"So you killed him, " the old woman said to her with a leer of sympathyand admiration. 

At this the other prisoners regarded her with curiosity and deference. Hilda made no answer, seemed not to have heard. Her eyes were closedand her face was rigid and gray as stone. 

"She needn't be afraid at all, " declared a young woman in black satin, addressing the company at large. "No jury'd ever convict asgood-looking a girl as her. "

"Good business!" continued the old woman. "I'd 'a' killed mine if Icould 'a' got at him--forty years ago. " She nodded vigorously andcackled. Her cackle rose into a laugh, the laugh into a maudlin howl, the howl changing into a kind of song--

 "My love, my love, my love and I--we had to part, to part! And it broke, it broke, it broke my heart --it broke my heart!"

"Cork up in there!" shouted the policeman from the seat beside thedriver. 

The old woman became abruptly silent. Hilda moaned and quivered. Herlips moved. She was murmuring, "I can't stand it much longer--I can't. I'll wake soon and see Aunt Greta's picture looking down at me from thewall and hear mother in the kitchen--"

"Step lively now!" They were at the Essex Market police court; theywere filing into the waiting-pen. A lawyer, engaged by her father, came there, and Hilda was sent with him into a little consultationroom. He argued with her in vain. "I'll speak for myself, " she said. "If I had a lawyer they'd think I was guilty. "

After an hour the petty offenders had been heard and judged. A courtofficer came to the door and called: "Hilda Brauner!"

Hilda rose. She seemed unconcerned, so calm was she. Her nerves hadreached the point at which nerves refuse to writhe, or even to recordsensations of pain. As she came into the dingy, stuffy littlecourtroom she didn't note the throng which filled it to the lastcrowded inch of standing-room; did not note the scores of sympatheticfaces of her anxious, loyal friends and neighbors; did not even see herfather and Otto standing inside the railing, faith and courage in theireyes as they saw her advancing. 

The magistrate studied her over the tops of his glasses, and his lookbecame more and more gentle and kindly. "Come up here on the platformin front of me, " he said. 

Hilda took her stand with only the high desk between him and her. Themagistrate's tone and his kind, honest, old face reassured her. Andjust then she felt a pressure at her elbow and heard in Otto's voice:"We're all here. Don't be afraid. "

"Have you counsel--a lawyer?" asked the magistrate. 

"No, " replied Hilda. "I haven't done anything wrong. I don't need alawyer. "

The magistrate's eyes twinkled, but he sobered instantly to say, "Iwarn you that the case against you looks grave. You had better havelegal help. "

Hilda looked at him bravely. "I've only the truth to tell, " sheinsisted. "I don't want a lawyer. "

"We'll see, " said the magistrate, giving her an encouraging smile. "Ifit is as you say, you certainly won't need counsel. Your rights aresecure here. " He looked at Captain Hanlon, who was also on theplatform. "Captain, " said he, "your first witness--the man who foundthe body. "

"Meinert, " said the captain in a low tone to a court officer, whocalled loudly, "Meinert! Meinert!"

A man stood up in the crowd. "You don't want me!" he shouted, as if hewere trying to make himself heard through a great distance instead of afew feet. 

"You want--"

"Come forward!" commanded the magistrate sharply, and when Meinertstood before him and beside Hilda and had been sworn, he said, "Now, tell your story. "

"The man--Feuerstein, " began Meinert, "came into my place abouthalf-past one yesterday. He looked a little wild--as if he'd beendrinking or was in trouble. He went back into the sitting-room and Isent in to him and--"

"Did you go in?"

"No, your Honor. "

"When did you see him again?"

"Not till the police came. "

"Stand down. I want evidence, not gossip. Captain Hanlon, who foundthe body? Do you know?"

"Your Honor, I understood that Mr. Meinert found it. "

The magistrate frowned at him. Then he said, raising his voice, "DoesANY ONE know who found the body?"

"My man Wielert did, " spoke up Meinert. 

A bleached German boy with a cowlick in the center of his head justabove his forehead came up beside Hilda and was sworn. 

"You found the body?"

"Yes, " said Wielert. He was blinking stupidly and his throat wasexpanding and contracting with fright. 

"Tell us all you saw and heard and did. "

"I take him the brandy in. And he sit and talk to himself. And he askfor paper and ink. And then he write and look round like crazy. Andhe make luny talk I don't understand. And he speak what he write--"

Captain Hanlon was red and was looking at Wielert in blank amazement. 

"What did he write?" asked the magistrate. 

"A letter, " answered Wielert. "He put it in a envelope with a stamp onit and he write on the back and make it all ready. And then I watchhim, and he take out a knife and feel it and speak with it. And I goin and ask him for money. "

"Your Honor, this witness told us nothing of that before, " interruptedHanlon. "I understood that the knife--"

"Did you question him?" asked the magistrate. 

"No, " replied the captain humbly. And Casey and O'Rourke shook theirbig, hard-looking heads to indicate that they had not questioned him. 

"I am curious to know what you HAVE done in this case, " said themagistrate sternly. "It is a serious matter to take a young girl likethis into custody. You police seem unable to learn that you are notthe rulers, but the servants of the people. "

"Your Honor--" began Hanlon. 

"Silence!" interrupted the magistrate, rapping on the desk with hisgavel. "Proceed, Wielert. What kind of knife was it?"

"The knife in his throat afterward, " answered Wielert. "And I hear asound like steam out a pipe--and I go in and see a lady at the streetdoor. She peep through the crack and her face all yellow and her eyebig. And she go away. "

Hilda was looking at him calmly. She was the only person in the roomwho was not intensely agitated. All eyes were upon her. There wasabsolute silence. 

"Is that lady here?" asked the magistrate. His voice seemed loud andstrained. 

"Yes, " said Wielert. "I see her. "

Otto instinctively put his arm about Hilda. Her father was like a leafin the wind. 

Wielert looked at Hilda earnestly, then let his glance wander over thestill courtroom. He was most deliberate. At last he said, "I see heragain. "

"Point her out, " said the magistrate--it was evidently with an effortthat he broke that straining silence. 

"That lady there. " Wielert pointed at a woman sitting just outside theinclosure, with her face half-hid by her hand. 

A sigh of relief swelled from the crowd. Paul Brauner sobbed. 

"Why, she's our witness!" exclaimed Hanlon, forgetting himself. 

The magistrate rapped sharply, and, looking toward the woman, said, "Stand up, Madam. Officer, assist her!"

The court officer lifted her to her feet. Her hand dropped andrevealed the drawn, twitching face of Sophie Liebers. 

"Your Honor, " said Hanlon hurriedly, "that is the woman upon whosestatement we made our case. She told us she saw Hilda Brauner comingfrom the family entrance just before the alarm was given. "

"Are you sure she's the woman you saw?" said the magistrate to Wielert. "Be careful what you say. "

"That's her, " answered Wielert. "I see her often. She live across thestreet from Meinert's. "

"Officer, bring the woman forward, " commanded the magistrate. 

Sophie, blue with terror, was almost dragged to the platform besideHilda. Hilda looked stunned, dazed. 

"Speak out!" ordered the magistrate. 

"You have heard what this witness testified. "

Sophie was weeping violently. "It's all a mistake, " she cried in alow, choked voice. "I was scared. I didn't mean to tell the policeHilda was there. I was afraid they'd think I did it if I didn't saysomething. "

"Tell us what you saw. " The magistrate's voice was severe. "We wantthe whole truth. "

"I was at our window. And I saw Hilda come along and go in at thefamily entrance over at Meinert's. And I'd seen Mr. Feuerstein go inthe front door about an hour before. Hilda came out and went away. She looked so queer that I wanted to see. I ran across the street andlooked in. Mr. Feuerstein was sitting there with a knife in his hand. And all at once he stood up and stabbed himself in the neck--and therewas blood--and he fell--and--I ran away. "

"And did the police come to you and threaten you?" asked the magistrate. 

"Your Honor, " protested Captain Hanlon with an injured air, "SHE cameto US. "

"Is that true?" asked the magistrate of Sophie. 

Sophie wept loudly. "Your Honor, " Hanlon went on, "she came to me andsaid it was her duty to tell me, though it involved her friend. Shesaid positively that this girl went in, stayed several minutes, thencame out looking very strange, and that immediately afterward there wasthe excitement. Of course, we believed her. "

"Of course, " echoed the magistrate ironically. "It gave you anopportunity for an act of oppression. "

"I didn't mean to get Hilda into trouble. I swear I didn't, " Sophieexclaimed. "I was scared. I didn't know what I was doing. I swear Ididn't!"

Hilda's look was pity, not anger. "Oh, Sophie, " she said brokenly. 

"What did your men do with the letter Feuerstein wrote?" asked themagistrate of Hanlon suspiciously. 

"Your Honor, we--" Hanlon looked round nervously. 

Wielert, who had been gradually rising in his own estimation, as herealized the importance of his part in the proceedings, now pushedforward, his face flushed with triumph. "I know where it is, " he saideagerly. "When I ran for the police I mail it. "

There was a tumult of hysterical laughter, everybody seeking relieffrom the strain of what had gone before. The magistrate rapped downthe noise and called for Doctor Wharton. While he was giving histechnical explanation a note was handed up to the bench. Themagistrate read:

 GERMAN THEATER, 3 September. 

YOUR HONOR--I hasten to send you the inclosed letter which I found inmy mail this morning. It seems to have an important bearing on thehearing in the Feuerstein case, which I see by the papers comes upbefore you to-day. 

 Very truly yours, WILLIAM KONIGSMARCK, Manager. 

The magistrate handed the inclosure to a clerk, who was a German. "Readit aloud, " he said. And the clerk, after a few moments' preparation, slowly read in English:

To the Public:

Before oblivion swallows me--one second, I beg!

I have sinned, but I have expiated. I have lived bravely, fightingadversity and the malice which my superior gifts from nature provoked. I can live no longer with dignity. So, proud and fearless to the last, I accept defeat and pass out. 

I forgive my friends. I forget my enemies. 

Exit Carl Feuerstein, soldier of fortune, man of the world. Asensitive heart that was crushed by the cruelty of men and the kindnessof women has ceased to beat. 

 CARL FEUERSTEIN. 

P. S. DEAR. MR. KONIGSMARCK--Please send a copy of the above to thenewspapers, English as well as German. C. F. 

The magistrate beamed his kindliest upon Hilda. "The charge againstyou is absurd. Your arrest was a crime. You are free. "

Hilda put her hand on Otto's arm. "Let us go, " she murmured wearily. 

As they went up the aisle hand in hand the crowd stood and cheeredagain and again; the magistrate did not touch his gavel--he was noddingvigorous approval. Hilda held Otto's hand more closely and looked allround. And her face was bright indeed. 

Thus the shadow of Mr. Feuerstein--of vanity and false emotion, of poseand pretense, passed from her life. Straight and serene before her laythe pathway of "work and love and home. "