Upon this the young man flushed all over, and looked round to see who
had heard the pawnbroker; then he took something very small out of his
pocket, and keeping it hidden under his palm, pushed it into the hole.

"Where did you get this ring?" said the pawnbroker.

"I want to pawn it," whispered the other, blushing all over again.

"What's your name?" said the pawnbroker, speaking very loud.

"How much will you give?" whispered the other in reply, leaning over,
and looking as if he wanted to hush up the pawnbroker.

At last the sum was agreed upon, when the man behind the counter took a
little ticket, and tying the ring to it began to write on the ticket;
all at once he asked the young man where he lived, a question which
embarrassed him very much; but at last he stammered out a certain number
in Broadway.

"That's the City Hotel: you don't live there," said the man, cruelly
glancing at the shabby coat before him.

"Oh! well," stammered the other blushing scarlet, "I thought this was
only a sort of form to go through; I don't like to tell where I do live,
for I ain't in the habit of going to pawnbrokers."

"You stole that ring, you know you did," roared out the hook-nosed man,
incensed at this slur upon his calling, and now seemingly bent on
damaging the young man's character for life. "I'm a good mind to call a.