you--sorry to trouble you. I MUST be more careful.''

The two dollars were transferred, Feuerstein gave Hartmann a
flourishing stage salute and strode grandly on. Before he had
gone ten yards he had forgotten Hartmann and had dismissed all
financial care--had he not enough to carry him through the day,
even should he meet no one who would pay for his dinner and his
drinks? ``Yes, it is a day to back myself to win--fearlessly!''

The hedge at the Cafe Boulevard was green and the tables were in
the yard and on the balconies; but Feuerstein entered, seated
himself in one of the smoke-fogged reading-rooms, ordered a glass
of beer, and divided his attention between the Fliegende Blatter
and the faces of incoming men. After half an hour two men in an
arriving group of three nodded coldly to him. He waited until
they were seated, then joined them and proceeded to make himself
agreeable to the one who had just been introduced to him--young
Horwitz, an assistant bookkeeper at a department store in
Twenty-third Street. But Horwitz had a ``soul,'' and the
yearning of that secret soul was for the stage. Feuerstein did
Horwitz the honor of dining with him. At a quarter past seven,
with his two dollars intact, with a loan of one dollar added to
it, and with five of his original ten cents, he took himself away
to the theater. Afterward, by appointment, he met his new
friend, and did him the honor of accompanying him to the Young
German Shooters' Society ball at Terrace Garden.

It was one of those simple, entirely and genuinely gay
entertainments that assemble the society of the real New
York--the three and a half millions who work and play hard and