One day, being at his wit's end, he walked rapidly, seeking light,
through a quarter of the city which was not familiar to him. He was in
that mood when a man does not wish to be at the trouble of nodding or
exchanging a word even with his best friend. A voice hailed him,
"Mr. Allen."

He stopped and saw that the voice came from a legless man who sat in the
sun by a hand-organ on which were displayed for sale a few pairs of
shoe-laces and, to excite charity, a battered (and empty) tin cup.

"Have you forgotten me?"

The light of recognition had twinkled instantly in Wilmot's eyes, for he
was wonderful at remembering faces. And he smiled and said:

"Of course not. How are you?"

"Pretty well," said the beggar. "And you?"

"Pretty well."

Wilmot's giving hand had slipped automatically into his trousers pocket.
Then, for once in his charitable life, he hesitated, since the pocket
contained nothing but a ten-dollar bill, and that was all the money he
had in the world with which to meet a pressing note of ten thousand. His
hesitation lasted only a moment. He laughed and stuffed the ten-dollar
bill into the cup, and said:

"For old acquaintance' sake."