"T'ank you, mum," mumbled the Flopper, as the money dropped into his
hat. "God reward you, sir.... Ah, miss, may you never know a tear....
'Twas heaven brought you 'ere to-night, lady."

They passed, following the guide. The Flopper scooped the money into a
pile in his hat, began to tuck it away in some recess of his shirt--when
a hand was thrust suddenly under his nose.

"Come on, now, divvy!" snapped a voice in his ear.

It was the driver of the car, who had dropped from his seat to the
ground. A gleam of hate replaced the tears in the Flopper's eyes.

"Go to hell!" he snarled through thin lips--and his hand closed
automatically over the cap.

"Come on, now, I ain't got no time to fool!" prompted the man, with a
leer. "I'm dead onto your lay, and there's a bull comin' along now--half
or him, which?"

The Flopper's eyes caught the brass buttons of the officer returning on
his beat, and his face was white with an inhuman passion, as, clutching
a portion of what was left in the hat, he lifted his hand from the rest.

"Thanks!" grinned the chauffeur, snatching at the remainder. "'Tain't
half, but it'll do"--and he hurried across the sidewalk, and disappeared
inside a saloon.

Oaths, voicing a passion that rocked the Flopper to his soul, purled in