tried it. When men or women come to their last chance they are apt to give it a trial; flesh and blood will make the attempt, even if reason is convinced that it will prove utterly vaim.

"Ah, but it's well ye're lookin' the day, Mr. Zalinski,”-Paul started as he heard the name,-" an' as handsome an' fine as iver. Sure it's a treat for the poor souls that does be comin' here to have the likes of yerself to dale wid."

The young man was evidently not averse from a few compliments. He caressed his black moustache with the diamond-decked hand, thereby at once displaying the gem and concealing a gratified smile.

Well, Mary, you give yourself the treat pretty often. What is it to-day ?"

"Only a thrifle, sir; it's" She placed a bundle on the counter, and with nervous fingers fumbled at the knots. Stuyvesant noticed how her hand trembled and how her dark eyes were raised every moment in mute despairing appeal to the handsome, self-satisfied face of the young pawnbroker. Her pitiful attempt at humor had died out as the moment for trying her last chance had come.

Zalinski lost patience. "Come, hurry up," he said, roughly. "This isn't a thousand-dollar job of yours, I suppose. I can't waste all day over it."

There were tears in her eyes, but she managed to laugh.

"Oh, the sorra a thousand dollars, sir. Sure that's for gintlemen like you, not for the likes of me. I only want- -" She hesitated as the last knot yielded to her hand. She needed so many things that she wanted the last penny she could secure as an advance, but it would be absurd to ask too much and terrible to ask too little. She spread out the contents of the bundle on the counter.

"I want-forty cents on this shawl and pair of shoes."

The poor shoes were cast back to her with quick contempt; and indeed they merited no better fate. Only despair would have brought them to such a place.

"Call those things shoes! Take them to a junk-shop. Let's see the shawl. H'm! I thought so. I wouldn't take the whole outfit as a gift. Forty cents, indeed !"

"Sure it's better nor this one I have on. Ye'll let me have a quarter on it, anyhow?"

"What d'ye take this place for? A rag-shop? Take your shawl home and cut the holes out of it and then come back and talk to me." And the young pawnbroker turned away with an indignant sniff.

"Ochone, sir, sure ye'll not be so cruel? Listen, now! My man's got a job. He goes to work Monday. Not a word of lie in it! Indade he does; and sorra a thing is there in the house,-neither bit nor sup,-and the childer cryin',-an'- She tore the thin shawl from her shoulders and added it to the other. "Won't ye let me have twenty-five on the two? Next week I'll redeem them. They'll be no time wid ye. Ah, look at them ag'in, Mr. Zalinski. Ye'll niver be after refusin' me?"

But the pawnbroker was not even listening to her. He had gone up to one of the more secluded compartments, whence a fairly white

hand protruded across the counter. From this hand he had just received a cluster ring, which he was now examining in every possible light. No longer did Stuyvesant take comfort from the prepossessing appearance of the man. He was sorry that this was Zalinski.

Meanwhile, the poor Irishwoman had gathered her paltry belongings from the counter slowly and reluctantly. She was weeping unrestrainedly now, and murmuring broken words below her breath. She did not attempt to make up her bundle again, but placed both shawls over her shoulders; one of them had a gaudy red pattern, and the other was a more sombre black, and as they were carelessly adjusted, and the colors of the lower one showed through the holes in the upper, the effect was bizarre. She took the shoes in her hand, and turned toward the door.

"I might have known it," she muttered; "but sure what was I to do? I couldn't sit there and listen to poor little Shaun cryin' wid the hunger! Oh, murder, murder, what's to become of us now, at all, at all?"

She wrung her hands, and the shoes dropped to the floor.

Paul had never realized the existence of poverty like this. Now and again he had given a trifle to tramps and beggars, always in violation of his principles, for he was a sound theorist in political economy. But here was a genuine case of destitution and despair. He felt a lump rising in his throat, as he stepped forward to address the woman.

At this moment the strident tones issued their order to the automaton at the desk: "Seventy-five dollars on a cluster diamond and ruby ring."

The announcement enchained the attention of every one in the shop. Evidently the transaction was of sensational magnitude.

"What name?" was asked; and from the obscurity of the partition a female voice answered, with a little laugh,-

"Cash,-Brooklyn." And the clerk made his entry.

This pledge was not thrown up on the shelves. It was tied to its ticket and placed in the safe, which yawned a little more to receive it. Meanwhile, Stuyvesant had found a moment to speak to the Irishwoman. He had not inquired how she happened to be reduced to such a plight; he had not asked what was her husband's business: he had merely slipped into her hand five dollars and his card.

"I am very sorry you are in such trouble," he said. "There is a trifle which may help you along till your husband gets to work. Don't be afraid; I can afford it. And if you'll let me know if there is anything further-if any accident should happen-my address is on that card. I think I know of some people who would inquire into your case and do more for you than I can.'

He turned away from the poor creature's tearful, wondering thanks. Leaving her to marvel what manner of angel this might be who did good in pawn-shops, he faced the counter again. He had violated the first principle of his own code of alms-giving; he had bestowed money on an unknown woman without investigation; but his conscience acquitted him.

He caught Mr. Zalinski's eye as that worthy returned from deposit

tried it. When men or women come to their last chance they are apt to give it a trial; flesh and blood will make the attempt, even if reason is convinced that it will prove utterly vaim.

"Ah, but it's well ye're lookin' the day, Mr. Zalinski,”—Paul started as he heard the name,-" an' as handsome an' fine as iver. Sure it's a treat for the poor souls that does be comin' here to have the likes of yerself to dale wid."

The young man was evidently not averse from a few compliments. He caressed his black moustache with the diamond-decked hand, thereby at once displaying the gem and concealing a gratified smile.

Well, Mary, you give yourself the treat pretty often. What is it to-day ?"

"Only a thrifle, sir; it's" She placed a bundle on the counter, and with nervous fingers fumbled at the knots. Stuyvesant noticed how her hand trembled and how her dark eyes were raised every moment in mute despairing appeal to the handsome, self-satisfied face of the young pawnbroker. Her pitiful attempt at humor had died out as the moment for trying her last chance had come.

Zalinski lost patience. "Come, hurry up," he said, roughly. "This isn't a thousand-dollar job of yours, I suppose. I can't waste all day over it."

There were tears in her eyes, but she managed to laugh.

"Oh, the sorra a thousand dollars, sir. Sure that's for gintlemen like you, not for the likes of me. I only want- -"She hesitated

as the last knot yielded to her hand. She needed so many things that she wanted the last penny she could secure as an advance, but it would be absurd to ask too much and terrible to ask too little. She spread out the contents of the bundle on the counter.

"I want-forty cents on this shawl and pair of shoes."

The poor shoes were cast back to her with quick contempt; and indeed they merited no better fate. Only despair would have brought them to such a place.

"Call those things shoes! Take them to a junk-shop. Let's see the shawl. H'm! I thought so. I wouldn't take the whole outfit as a gift. Forty cents, indeed!"

"Sure it's better nor this one I have on. Ye'll let me have a quarter on it, anyhow ?"

"What d'ye take this place for? A rag-shop? Take your shawl home and cut the holes out of it and then come back and talk to me." And the young pawnbroker turned away with an indignant sniff.

"Ochone, sir, sure ye'll not be so cruel? Listen, now! My man's got a job. He goes to work Monday. Not a word of lie in it! Indade he does; and sorra a thing is there in the house,-neither bit nor sup,—and the childer cryin',-an'" She tore the thin shawl from her shoulders and added it to the other. "Won't ye let me have twenty-five on the two? Next week I'll redeem them. They'll be no time wid ye. Ah, look at them ag'in, Mr. Zalinski. Ye'll niver be after refusin' me?"

But the pawnbroker was not even listening to her. He had gone up to one of the more secluded compartments, whence a fairly white

hand protruded across the counter. From this hand he had just received a cluster ring, which he was now examining in every possible light. No longer did Stuyvesant take comfort from the prepossessing appearance of the man. He was sorry that this was Zalinski.

Meanwhile, the poor Irishwoman had gathered her paltry belongings from the counter slowly and reluctantly. She was weeping unrestrainedly now, and murmuring broken words below her breath. She did not attempt to make up her bundle again, but placed both shawls over her shoulders; one of them had a gaudy red pattern, and the other was a more sombre black, and as they were carelessly adjusted, and the colors of the lower one showed through the holes in the upper, the effect was bizarre. She took the shoes in her hand, and turned toward the door.

"I might have known it," she muttered; "but sure what was I to do? I couldn't sit there and listen to poor little Shaun cryin' wid the hunger! Oh, murder, murder, what's to become of us now, at all, at all"

She wrung her hands, and the shoes dropped to the floor.

Paul had never realized the existence of poverty like this. Now and again he had given a trifle to tramps and beggars, always in violation of his principles,-for he was a sound theorist in political economy. But here was a genuine case of destitution and despair. He felt a lump rising in his throat, as he stepped forward to address the woman.

At this moment the strident tones issued their order to the automaton at the desk: "Seventy-five dollars on a cluster diamond and ruby ring."

The announcement enchained the attention of every one in the shop. Evidently the transaction was of sensational magnitude.

"What name?" was asked; and from the obscurity of the partition a female voice answered, with a little laugh,

"Cash,-Brooklyn." And the clerk made his entry.

This pledge was not thrown up on the shelves. It was tied to its ticket and placed in the safe, which yawned a little more to receive it. Meanwhile, Stuyvesant had found a moment to speak to the Irishwoman. He had not inquired how she happened to be reduced to such a plight; he had not asked what was her husband's business: he had merely slipped into her hand five dollars and his card.

"I am very sorry you are in such trouble," he said. "There is a trifle which may help you along till your husband gets to work. Don't be afraid; I can afford it. And if you'll let me know if there is anything further-if any accident should happen-my address is on that card. I think I know of some people who would inquire into your case and do more for you than I can.'

He turned away from the poor creature's tearful, wondering thanks. Leaving her to marvel what manner of angel this might be who did good in pawn-shops, he faced the counter again. He had violated the first principle of his own code of alms-giving; he had bestowed money on an unknown woman without investigation; but his conscience acquitted him.

He caught Mr. Zalinski's eye as that worthy returned from deposit

ing the cluster ring in the safe. The young pawnbroker at once accosted Paul, whose dress and appearance suggested another possible transaction of similar importance.

"What can I do for you, sir?" said he, politely, half leaning, half reaching across the counter with a suggestive gesture. Stuyvesant's watch-chain was visible, and from it depended a locket, and in that locket was a very good likeness of Miss Vaughn. The pawnbroker's glance seemed to have been attracted to it, and his hand indicated and in a manner invited it.

Stuyvesant hastily fastened his coat, which he had unbuttoned a moment before to reach his card-case. Having thus answered the gesture in the negative, he proceeded to answer the question in the affirmative.

"If you can spare me a moment, I will tell you. You are Mr. Zalinski, I believe?"

"That is my name," returned the young man, slightly surprised. As a rule, his customers did not trouble themselves much about his identity, being often more occupied in concealing their own.

"A week or so ago," began Stuyvesant, "just before Christmas, I suppose, you received, doubtless in the course of business, a checkHe hesitated a moment, uncertain how to proceed; but the young man behind the counter broke in impatiently:

"We receive a great many checks in the course of business. Come to the point at once. I am very busy."

"I am anxious to trace this check. It was drawn by me to the order of a friend of mine, and made payable by him to you. From you it passed to James Burt."

The pawnbroker looked at him sharply and suspiciously.

"You seem to have traced it pretty well already," he said. "I don't know any James Burt. Are you sure the check passed through my hands ?"

"It was endorsed M. Zalinski; not a very common name, surely," answered Paul.

"Common or uncommon, it is not mine. My name is Isaac," was the rough reply.

"Your sign outside reads M. Zalinski," pursued Stuyvesant.

"That's my father's name. This business does not belong to me.' "Can I see your father, then?" asked Paul, eagerly. Somehow he was relieved to learn that Charley's business did not lie with this shrewd, handsome young fellow, who seemed, like his own diamond, all glitter, without a soft spot anywhere about him.

"Can you see my father?" the clerk repeated, slowly. "Well, I don't know. I'll ask him." He stepped back and took up a speakingtube which hung down at an angle of one of the shelves and evidently communicated with the regions above. He whistled into it, and then held it to his ear waiting for a response. This was not long in coming, for the young man speedily spoke into the tube.

Stuyvesant now listened to a curious, one-sided dialogue: he could hear every word Isaac Zalinski said, but the replies from above were inaudible.