just got to raise some money, or git some work, or the first thing
you'll know, I'll be hanging around Central Park on a dark night with a
club."

"Hello, Jim!" hailed a feminine voice in greeting.

The two men quickly looked up. An attractive, stylishly dressed young
woman had halted. A smile of recognition lit up the agent's wan face,
and starting forward, he shook warmly the proffered hand. The actor,
touching his hat, turned to go. To Weston, he said:

"If you hear of anything in my line, bear me in mind, old man."

"I will, Ned, never fear. Good-bye and good luck."

The actor strolled on and the agent turned to his feminine
acquaintance:

"Why, Elfie St. Clair!" he exclaimed, "I haven't seen you for an age."

It was Elfie St. Clair, bearing, as usual, all the outward signs of
prosperity. Like most women of her class, she always over-dressed. From
her picture hat and jeweled neck, to her silk stockings and dainty
patent leather slippers, she had them all on, and more than one
passerby turned to stare. Extravagant clothes which, on Fifth Avenue
would be taken as a matter of course, caused a mild sensation among the
general dullness of the busy Rialto. But Elfie ignored the attention
she attracted, and went on chatting, unconcerned. What did she care if
people guessed how she made the money to dress as she did? She was too
old at the business for that, too hardened, yet with all her
effrontery, she had at least one redeeming virtue. In her days of
prosperity she was never too proud to greet or help old friends. She
had met Jim Weston years ago. He was press agent for the first company
she joined, and she had not forgotten trifling little services he had
rendered her at that precarious time. With a glance at his shabby
clothes, she asked:

"What are you doing now?"

"Same as usual--nothing!" he answered dryly.

"Down on your luck, eh?" she said sympathetically.

"Never had any luck," he grumbled.

"Been out long?"

"Only six weeks the whole season. Show busted. I'm on my uppers for
fair this time--eligible for the down-and-out club. No prospects,
either."

The girl made a motion with her pocketbook. Kindly she said:

"Say, Jim--let me loan you a ten spot--we're old pals, you and I----"

He shook his head determinedly. Almost savagely, he exclaimed:

"No, I'll be d----d if I do! The river before that. Thank God, I still
have my self respect left!" Quickly changing the topic, he went on: "I
met an o