the city. Oh, they was an illigant
pair when they was new."

"How many years ago was that?" asked the pawnbroker.

"Only six months, and they ain't been worn more'n a month."

"I'll give you fifty cents."

"Fifty cints!" repeated Mrs. McCarty, turning to the other customers,
as if to call their attention to an offer so out of proportion to the
valuable article she held in her hand. "Only fifty cints for these
illigant breeches! Oh, it's you that's a hard man, that lives on the
poor and the nady."

"You needn't take it. I should lose money on it, if you didn't redeem
it."

"He says he'd lose money on it," said Mrs. McCarty. "And suppose he did,
isn't he a-rollin' in gold?"

"I'm poor," said Eliakim; "almost as poor as you, because I'm too
liberal to my customers."

"Hear till him!" said Mrs. McCarty. "He says he's liberal and only
offers fifty cints for these illigant breeches."

"Will you take them or leave them?" demanded the pawnbroker,
impatiently.

"You may give me the money," said Bridget; "and it's I that wonder how
you can slape in your bed, when you are so hard on poor folks."

Mrs. McCarty departed with her money, and Eliakim fixed his sharp eyes
on the next customer. It was a tall man, shabbily dressed, with a thin,
melancholy-looking face, and the expression of one who had struggled
with the world, and failed in the struggle.

"How much for this?" he asked, pointing to the violin, and speaking in a
slow, deliberate tone, as if he did not feel at home in the language.

"What do you want for it?"

"Ten dollar," he answered.

"Ten dollars! You're crazy!" was the contemptuous comment of the
pawnbroker.

"He is a very good violin," said the man. "If you would like to hear
him," and he made a movement as if to play upon it.

"Never mind!" said Eliakim. "I haven't any time to hear it. If it were
new it would be worth something; but it's old, and----"

"But you do not understand," interrupted the customer, eagerly. "It is
worth much more than new. Do you see, it is by a famous maker? I would
not sell him, but I am poor, and my Bettina needs bread. It hurts me
very much to let him go. I will buy him back as soon as I can."

"I will give you two dollars, but I shall lose on it, unless you redeem
it."

"Two dollar!" repeated the Italian. "Ocielo! it is nothing. But Bettina
is at home without bread, poor little one! Will you not give three
dollar?"

"Not a cent more."

"I will take it."