Wilfred’s heart almost burst out of his breast. Did he mean anything by that? . . . But probably not. Thenceforward, talk never failed. The three youths left the restaurant together. A despair had seized upon Wilfred. There was nothing further he could do to prolong the occasion. He had no place where he could ask them to come. This was the end! They paused on the sidewalk. “Which way you go?” asked Stanny, offhand. “I live in Eleventh street.” “Walk around by the Avenue with us.” So he obtained five minutes reprieve. At the Eleventh street corner they paused again. Wilfred’s heart was low. His tongue clave to his palate. Stanny said in the forthright manner that became his doughty self so well: “Look here; I’ve got a garret up on Fourteenth street. Jasper’s coming up. Would you like to come and look at my stuff?” Would he! Wilfred could scarcely reply. “Oh yes!” he murmured. “I was hoping you would ask me.” Both lads looked at him with quick pleasure. Without knowing it, he had said exactly the right thing. They marched up-town three abreast. “Got anything to drink?” mumbled Jasper. “Divil a drop, you sponge!” “I . . . I wish you’d let me . . . stand treat,” stammered Wilfred. With his fingers, he made sure of the limp dollar bill in his trousers pocket. That was for lunches the balance of the week, but . . . ! “All right,” said Stanny. “We’ll go round by Maria’s, and get a bottle of Nebiola . . .” IV Towards the close of the business day, Joe Kaplan dropped in at Harry Bannerman’s little office on Nassau street. He had been there before. In his sphere, Harry occupied much the same relation to Mr. Gore that Joe did in his. It had been no part of Mr. Gore’s plans to make his two favorites known to each other, but they had in a way of speaking smelled each other out. No doubt it had occurred to Harry, as it certainly had to Joe, that an alliance would be useful. How else could they keep tab on each other? It had greatly amused Joe to watch Harry’s face when he had unexpectedly come into Mr. Gore’s office one day to find Joe seated by the millionaire’s desk. Joe could imagine Harry going to Dobereiner for information; and Dobereiner getting off his innocent spiel about the clever young man whom Mr. Gore was educating! How Harry must have been tormented by the sums in cash he was forced to draw every week! Well, now, unknown to Mr. Gore and Dobereiner, Harry and Joe had become “intimate” friends. That was funny, too! “’Lo, Harry!” said Joe. He allowed a shadow to appear on his brow, and rolled his Eden perfecto moodily between his lips. “This is out o’ sight!” cried Harry. “I’ll be through directly. We’ll go out and have something.” Behind this parade of heartiness, Joe perceived the glitter of hatred, and exulted. He dropped on a chair, and extending his elegantly trousered legs plucked at the creases. A sickly look appeared in Harry’s eyes. Don’t he wish he was me! thought Joe.