"You can't afford _not_ to have something down on this if it's only a
shoestring. No? Oh--well!"

Again drawing the art-square from his pocket he lifted his pearl-gray
derby and dabbed despairingly at his brow. Catching the scent hot and
fresh, Susan Gluck's Orphan came dashing up-wind giving tongue, or
rather, nose, voluptuously.

"Mm-m-m! Snmmff!" inhaled the Orphan, wrinkling ecstatic nostrils.
"Mister, lemme smell it some more!"

Graciously the dispenser of fragrance waved his balm-laden handkerchief.
"Like it, kiddie?" he said.

"Oh, it's _grand_!" She stretched out her little grimy paws. "Please,
Mister," she entreated, "would you flop it over 'em, just once?"

The pink man tossed it to her. "Take it along and, when you get it all
snuffed up, give it back to the Dominie here for me."

"Oh, gracious!" said the Orphan, incredulous at this bounty. "Can I have
it till _to-morrah_?"

"Sure! What's the big idea for to-morrow?"

"I'm goin' to a funeral. I want it to cry in," said the Orphan
importantly.

"A funeral?" I asked. "In Our Square? Whose?"