generosity. "This is on me, I say. Jack, what 'll you have yourself?"

As they stood at the bar, the men began strolling up one by one. Each in
his turn was introduced to Joe. They were very polite. They treated him
with a pale, dignified, high-minded respect that menaced his pocket-book
and possessions. The proprietor, Mr. Turner, asked him why he had never
been in before. He really seemed much hurt about it, and on being told
that Joe had only been in the city for a couple of weeks expressed
emphatic surprise, even disbelief, and assured the rest that any one
would have taken Mr. Hamilton for an old New Yorker.

Sadness was introduced last. He bowed to Joe's "Happy to know you, Mr.
Williams."

"Better known as Sadness," he said, with an expression of deep gloom. "A
distant relative of mine once had a great grief. I have never recovered
from it."

Joe was not quite sure how to take this; but the others laughed and he
joined them, and then, to cover his own embarrassment, he did what he
thought the only correct and manly thing to do,--he ordered a drink.

"I don't know as I ought to," said Sadness.

"Oh, come on," his companions called out, "don't be stiff with a
stranger. Make him feel at home."

"Mr. Hamilton will believe me when I say that I have no intention of
being stiff, but duty is duty. I 've got to go down town to pay a bill,
and if I get too much aboard, it would n't be safe walking around with