he dog-star begins to
rage.

Now my friend Esper Indiman is a social philosopher; life in all its
phases interests him tremendously. Consequently, he likes to take long
rides on trolley-cars. He calls them his vaudeville in miniature, and
sometimes the performance is amusing--I acknowledge it freely. But
to-night the actors were few and the play dull. I began to yawn. The
car, one of the Eighth Avenue line bound down-town, swung round a curve
into Abingdon Square, and Indiman touched my arm.

"What's going on over there?" he said.

Although it was not a concert night, there was a crowd around the
band-stand. It looked as though some one was haranguing the assemblage
from the vantage-point of the music pavilion--a local political orator
or perhaps a street preacher. "Salvation Army," I suggested.

"Shall we take a look?" I nodded, and we alighted and pushed our way to
the front.

It was a young man who stood there, rather a nice-looking chap, with a
broad forehead from which the thin, fair hair fell away in a tumbled
wave. He was attired in evening clothes, assuredly an unusual sight in
Abingdon Square, where they do not dress for dinner, and the expression
upon his countenance was that of recklessness tempered with a certain
half-humorous melancholy. "One dollar," he repeated, as we came within
sight and hearing. "Do I hear no other bid? One dollar, one dollar.
Will any gentleman make it a half?"

"I'll give fifty for your skull alone," spoke up a youngish,
sallow-faced man who stood directly opposite the stand. "On condition,"
he added, in a lower tone, "that the goods are delivered at Bellevue
before the end of the week. Foot of Twenty-sixth Street, you know."

The young man smiled with a pathetic quizzicality. "Now, doctor," he
said, reproachfully, "there's no use in going over that ground again. I
made the terms of the sale perfectly plain, and there can be no
deviation from them."

"Well, if that's your last word," retorted the unsuccessful bidder,
"I'll say good-evening."

He turned to Indiman, who stood at his elbow. "A fakir," he growled,
disgustedly. "Now, I'll leave it to you, sir."

"If you will acquaint me with the essential particulars," said Indiman,
"I shall be most happy to pronounce upon them."

"In two words. This cheap josher has been offering to sell himself, out
and out, to the highest bidder. I make him a cash offer and he takes
water."

"Pardon me," interrupted the young man in eve