ook, as Van Dorn continued, "Gorgeous creature--" he shut his eyes
and added: "Don't pity Henry when he can get a woman like that to favor
him!"

As John Kollander thundered back some irrelevant comment on the moment's
politics, Van Dorn led Brotherton to the further end of the counter and
lowering his voice said:

"You know that Mauling girl at the Palace cigar counter?"

As Brotherton nodded, Van Dorn, dropping his voice to a whisper, said:
"Her father's dead--poor child--she's been spending her money--she
hasn't a cent. I know; I have been talking to her more or less for a
year or so. Which one of your lodges does the old man belong to,
George?"

When the big man said: "Odd Fellows," Van Dorn reached into an inner
coat pocket, brought out some bills and slipping them to Brotherton, so
that the group on the bench in the corner could not see, Van Dorn
mumbled:

"Tell her folks this came from the lodge--poor little creature, she's
their sole support."

As Van Dorn lighted his cigar at the alcohol burner Henry Fenn turned
into the store. Fenn stood among them and smiled his electric smile,
that illumined his lean, drawn face and said, "Here," a pause, then, "I
am," another pause, and a more searching smile, "I am again!"

Mr. Brotherton looked up from the magazine counter where he was sorting
out _Centurys_, and _Harpers_ and _Scribners_ from a
pile: "Say--" he roared at the newcomer, "Well--say, Henry--this won't
do. Come--take a brace; pull yourself together. We are all for you."

"Yes," answered Fenn, smiling out of some incandescence in his heart,
"that's just it: You're all for me. The boys over at Riley's saloon are
all for me. Mother--God bless her, down at the house is for me so strong
that she never flinches or falters. I can get every vote in the
delegation, but my own!"

"Oh, Henry, why these tears?" sneered Van Dorn. "We've all got to have
our fun."

"I presume, Tom," snapped Fenn, "that you've got your little affairs of
the heart so that you can take 'em or let 'em alone!" But to the group
in the amen corner, Fenn lifted up his head in shame. He looked like a
whipped dog. One by one the crowd disappeared, all but Grant, who was
bending over his book, and deaf John Kollander.

Fenn and Brotherton went back to Brotherton's desk and Fenn asked, "Did
I--George, was it pretty bad last night? God she--she--that Mueller
girl--what a wonderful woman she is. George, do you suppose--" Fenn
caught Grant'