Few of the neighboring shopkeepers dated back to the time, long
years ago, when the real Magdal ran upon the breakers of bankruptcy
and disappeared in the "eternal smash" of a final pecuniary ruin.

The crafty Braun, once a co-laborer with Magdal, had jumped
eagerly at the opportunity of burying the identity of Hugo Landor,
the criminal fugitive, under the banner of the hopelessly wrecked
Magdal.

Fritz Braun had been a good enough name to use until the crafty
employee had robbed drunken old Magdal's till of money enough to
purchase the now valueless fixtures.

Magdal, the victim of an expensive liason with a dashing neighboring
French modiste, had tried to keep up a "regular" business.

All this was foreign to the ideas of the quick-witted Braun, safe
now under his humble alias, and his flowing false beard and the
never absent blue glass eye screens. Braun duly closed the doors
for a "reopening."

A few dollars spent in paint and gilding, a "gorgeous" soda
fountain "on lease," had soon transformed the dingy interior. A
couple of dozen cheap red plush stools wooed the tawdy Phrynes of
Sixth Avenue, and the light-headed shop girls to a repose from the
crash and roar of the shopping street.

From a dealer in "fake" goods, Braun cheaply obtained the empty
packages, the jars of colored water, and the stacks of imitation "put
up" goods, which gave to the pharmacy its air of rosy prosperity.