the pedestrians, to the outer edge of the sidewalk, and stopped in front
of the music hall.

A sight-seeing car, crammed to capacity, reaching its momentary Mecca,
drew up at the curb; and the guide's voice rose over the screech of the
brakes:

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, we will get out here for a little while.
This is Black Ike's famous Auditorium, the scene of last week's
sensational triple murder! Please remember that there is no charge for
admission to patrons of the company. Just show your coupons, ladies and
gentlemen, and walk right ahead."

The passengers began to pour from the long seats to the ground. The
Flopper's hat was in his hand.

"Fer God's sake, gents an' ladies, don't pass me by," he cried
piteously. "I could work once, but look at me now--I was run over by a
fire truck. God bring pity to yer hearts--youse have money fer pleasure,
spare something fer me."

The first man down from the seat halted and stared at the twisted,
unsightly thing before him, and, with a little gasp, reached into his
pocket and dropped a bill into the Flopper's hat.

"God bless you!" stammered the Flopper--and the tears sprang swimming to
his eyes.

The first man passed on with a gruff, "Oh, all right," but he had left
an example behind him that few of his fellow passengers ignored.