by a
besetting fear lest some fraction of a shilling or franc, or whatever the
prevailing coinage might be, should be diverted from his pocket or
service into that of a hard-up companion. A two-franc cigar would be
cheerfully offered to a wealthy patron, on the principle of doing evil
that good may come, but I have known him indulge in agonies of perjury
rather than admit the incriminating possession of a copper coin when
change was needed to tip a waiter. The coin would have been duly
returned at the earliest opportunity--he would have taken means to insure
against forgetfulness on the part of the borrower--but accidents might
happen, and even the temporary estrangement from his penny or sou was a
calamity to be avoided.

The knowledge of this amiable weakness offered a perpetual temptation to
play upon Laploshka's fears of involuntary generosity. To offer him a
lift in a cab and pretend not to have enough money to pay the fair, to
fluster him with a request for a sixpence when his hand was full of
silver just received in change, these were a few of the petty torments
that ingenuity prompted as occasion afforded. To do justice to
Laploshka's resourcefulness it must be admitted that he always emerged
somehow or other from the most embarrassing dilemma without in any way
compromising his reputation for saying "No." But the gods send
opportunities at some time to most men, and mine came one evening when
Laploshka and I were supping together in a cheap boulevard restaurant.
(Except when he was the bidden guest of some one with an irreproachable
income, Laploshka was wont to curb his appetite for high living; on such
fortunate occasions he let it go on an easy snaffle.) At the conclusion
of the meal a somewhat urgent message called me away, and without heeding
my companion's agitated protest, I called back cruelly, "Pay my share;
I'll settle with you to-morrow." Early on the morrow Laploshka hunted me
down by instinct as I walked along a side street that I hardly ever
frequented. He had the air of a man who had not slept.

"You owe me two francs from last night," was his breathless greeting.

I spoke evasively of the situation in Portugal, where more trouble seemed
brewing. But Laploshka listened with the abstraction of the deaf adder,
and quickly returned to the subject of the two francs.

"I'm afraid I must owe it to you," I said lightly and brutally. "I
haven't a sou in the world," and I added mendaciously,