sympathy between us. You may have that book for a nickel.
What, no! Your cheeks are hollow, your fingers thin. A nickel is too
much for you. I will take your chain in exchange."

"And leave me the watch!" Hamar retorted, with a grim smile. "You are
a philanthropist--not a storekeeper."

"I should leave you nothing!" the Jew laughed.

"There's no watch there! See!" and he pointed to the concave surface
of the watch-pocket. "I noticed its absence at once. It's been keeping
you alive for some days past. I'll give you four dollars on the
chain--and you may have the book!"

"The book's no good to me!" Hamar grunted. "The money is. Here! hand
me over the four dollars and you can have the chain. It's eighteen
carat gold and worth at least ten dollars."

"Then why not take it to some one who will give you ten dollars!"
sneered the Jew. "Because you know better. You're no greenhorn. That
chain is fifteen carat at the most, and there's not a man in this city
who would give you more than four dollars for it."

"Very well, then!" Hamar said sulkily. "I agree. No! the money first."

The Jew dived deep down into his trouser pocket, and, after foraging
about for some seconds, produced a handful of greasy coins, out of
which he carefully selected the sum named.

Hamar, who had been watching him greedily, grabbed the coins, bit them
with his teeth, and rang them on the counter. With an air of relief he
then slipped his watch-chain into the outstretched palm before him,
remarked upon the fact that the rain had suddenly ceased, and prepared
to take his departure.

"Here's the book!" the Jew ejaculated, whilst his face became suffused
with a smirk. "Don't go without it. Now! there's no knowing but what
we may not have further dealings with one another. I'm a
money-lender--I've a place down-stairs--I take all sorts of
things--all sorts of things. On the strict Q.T. mind. Sabez!"

In another moment Hamar found himself standing on the wet pavement,
nursing the four dollars in his waistcoat pocket with one hand, and
mechanically clutching the despised volume with the other. Had he ever
acted upon impulse, he would most certainly have hurled the book into
the gutter; but on second thoughts he came to the conclusion that it
would be better to dispose of it less obstrusively.

It was now evening, and having tasted nothing since mid-day, he
realized, for at least the hundredth time that week, that he was
hungry. The touch of the doll