``I can not tolerate this coarse hand between me and the woman I
love. No more deception! Carl Feuerstein''--how he did roll out
that name!--``can guard his own honor and his own destiny.''

The door into the private hall opened and in came Brauner and his
wife, fine pictures of homely content triumphing over the
discomforts of Sunday clothes. They looked at Mr. Feuerstein
with candidly questioning surprise. Avenue A is not afraid to
look, and speak, its mind. Otto came forward. ``This is Mr.
Feuerstein,'' he said.

At once Brauner showed that he was satisfied, and Mrs. Brauner
beamed. ``Oh, a friend of yours,'' Brauner said, extending his
hand. ``Glad to see any friend of Otto's.''

Mr. Feuerstein advanced impressively and bowed first over
Brauner's hand, then over Mrs. Brauner's. ``I am not a friend of
this--young man,'' he said with the dignity of a Hoheit. ``I
have come here to propose for the honor of your daughter's hand
in marriage.''

Mr. Feuerstein noted the stupefied expression of the delicatessen
dealer and his wife, and glanced from Otto to Hilda with a
triumphant smile. But Hilda was under no delusion. She shivered
and moved nearer to Otto. She felt that he was her hope in this
crisis which the mad love of her hero-lover had forced. Brauner
was the more angry because he had been thus taken by surprise.

``What nonsense is this?'' he growled, shaking his head
violently. ``My daughter is engaged to a plain man like