tle wad of greenbacks he took from his pocket;
counted them and a few silver pieces. Then seeking a ticket office, he
made a few casual inquiries; a shadow rested on his countenance as he
emerged from the place.

Next door to it a pile of gold pieces in a bank window shone mockingly
before his eyes. So near--with only the plate-glass between him and the
bright discs! Mechanically he began to count them, but suddenly turned
from that profitless occupation and stood with his back to the window.

What availed resolution without dollars? His purpose might be strong,
but poverty, a Brobdingnagian giant, laid its hand on his shoulder,
crushing him down, holding him there, impotent, until the stocky man and
his cohorts of the private detective office should come over and get
him--to send him to the little island he had thought of when crossing
the bridge to Brooklyn!

He fell back into a doorway. More money!--he must get it; must! He
folded his arms tight over his breast. To think that this should be his
one great, crying need--his!

Above, he heard footsteps descending the stairway at the foot of which
he stood; Mr. Heatherbloom slipped out of the passage to the sidewalk
and moved on. Chance took him back the way he had come; he had no choice
of direction. Now he looked once more at the window of the pawnbroker,
where he had stopped a short time before. He regarded the unredeemed
pledges; seal-rings, watches, flutes, old violins; what not? If he only
had something left; but all had gone--long ago.

All? He started slightly; considered; walked on. But he turned around,
hesitatingly, and came slowly back. As he approached the door, his step
grew more resolute. He walked briskly in. Without giving the proprietor
time to come to the front of the shop, Mr. Heatherbloom moved at once to
the back where the other sat behind his dusty glass cases.

"Here I am once more." He spoke with forced gaiety.

"What you want to buy now?"

"I don't want to buy anything; I want to sell something."

The pawnbroker's interest in the visitor at once departed.

"I have everythings! Everythings!" he grumbled. "Nearly every one wants
to sell. I have no room for noddings more. Good night!"

"But I've something special," said Mr. Heatherbloom. As he spoke he took
from an inner pocket a little parcel in pink tissue-paper; he fingered
it a moment, removing an ivory miniature from a frame, passed the paper
quickly about the picture once more, an