way now, wriggling, squirming and dodging between
the pedestrians, to the outer edge of the sidewalk, and stopped in front
of the music hall.

A sight-seeing car, crammed to capacity, reaching its momentary Mecca,
drew up at the curb; and the guide's voice rose over the screech of the
brakes:

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, we will get out here for a little while.
This is Black Ike's famous Auditorium, the scene of last week's
sensational triple murder! Please remember that there is no charge for
admission to patrons of the company. Just show your coupons, ladies and
gentlemen, and walk right ahead."

The passengers began to pour from the long seats to the ground. The
Flopper's hat was in his hand.

"Fer God's sake, gents an' ladies, don't pass me by," he cried
piteously. "I could work once, but look at me now--I was run over by a
fire truck. God bring pity to yer hearts--youse have money fer pleasure,
spare something fer me."

The first man down from the seat halted and stared at the twisted,
unsightly thing before him, and, with a little gasp, reached into his
pocket and dropped a bill into the Flopper's hat.

"God bless you!" stammered the Flopper--and the tears sprang swimming to
his eyes.

The first man passed on with a gruff, "Oh, all right," but he had left
an example behind him that few of his fellow passengers ignored.

"T'ank you, mum," mumbled the Flopper, as the money dropped into his
hat. "God reward you, sir.... Ah, miss, may you never know a tear....
'Twas heaven brought you 'ere to-night, lady."

They passed, following the guide. The Flopper scooped the money into a
pile in his hat, began to tuck it away in some recess of his shirt--when
a hand was thrust suddenly under his nose.

"Come on, now, divvy!" snapped a voice in his ear.

It was the driver of the car, who had dropped from his seat to the
ground. A gleam of hate replaced the tears in the Flopper's eyes.

"Go to hell!" he snarled through thin lips--and his hand closed
automatically over the cap.

"Come on, now, I ain't got no time to fool!" prompted the man, with a
leer. "I'm dead onto your lay, and there's a bull comin' along now--half
or him, which?"

The Flopper's eyes caught the brass buttons of the officer returning on
his beat, and his face was white with an inhuman passion, as, clutching
a portion of what was left in the hat, he lifted his hand from the rest.

"Thanks!" grinned the chauffeur, snatching at the remainder. "'