"Perhaps," the owner of the store observed slowly, "perhaps some of
your ancestors were once Yiddish. In which case there ought to be a
bond of sympathy between us. You may have that book for a nickel.
What, no! Your cheeks are hollow, your fingers thin. A nickel is too
much for you. I will take your chain in exchange."

"And leave me the watch!" Hamar retorted, with a grim smile. "You are
a philanthropist--not a storekeeper."

"I should leave you nothing!" the Jew laughed.

"There's no watch there! See!" and he pointed to the concave surface
of the watch-pocket. "I noticed its absence at once. It's been keeping
you alive for some days past. I'll give you four dollars on the
chain--and you may have the book!"

"The book's no good to me!" Hamar grunted. "The money is. Here! hand
me over the four dollars and you can have the chain. It's eighteen
carat gold and worth at least ten dollars."

"Then why not take it to some one who will give you ten dollars!"
sneered the Jew. "Because you know better. You're no greenhorn. That
chain is fifteen carat at the most, and there's not a man in this city
who would give you more than four dollars for it."

"Very well, then!" Hamar said sulkily. "I agree. No! the money first."

The Jew dived deep down into his trouser pocket, and, after foraging
about for some seconds, produced a handful of greasy coins, out of