“This evening we shall all be paid off our semimonthly wages, but as I shall not be at work to-day the contractor will only owe me for eleven days’ work. That will be sixteen dollars and fifty cents. Now, Adler, if you can conveniently advance me that money I will give you an order to receive my wages, due to-night, and I shall be more than grateful to you for a very great accommodation. It is to pay the expenses of my journey south, for I have not a dollar. Nothing but the extreme illness of my mother would induce me to——” “Now, Sir. William, not another word, or you’ll hurt my feelings!” exclaimed Adler, interrupting the speaker. “I owe you every cent I have in the world. I owe you life itself. Ever since that night when you plucked me out of the very jaws of death and hell I have had good luck. I have had steady work, and never lost a day, or a half day. Nor has the wife, nor any of the kids, had an hour of illness. That was the turning point of my luck, Mr. William, and it was you, under Providence, that turned it. I have lived well and saved up forty-seven dollars, and every single dollar of it is heartily at your service,” he added cordially, catching and clasping the hand of his friend. “Thank you! thank you!” warmly exclaimed Harcourt. “Thank you! But the amount that may be covered by the wages due me will be amply sufficient for my necessities. Nor would it be honest in me to borrow more, for heaven only knows whether I should ever be able to repay you.” “Oh, hush! hush! You hurt my feelings! You do, indeed! Come in, now, and I will get the ammunition for the battle of life,” said Adler. They had been walking back toward the house, and had now reached the door. They entered the room where the wife had the breakfast ready. “Your husband will tell you all about it, Mrs. Adler,” said Harcourt in answer to her anxious, questioning looks. Adler went into an inner room, but soon returned with a sealed envelope, which he silently put in the hand of his friend. Harcourt pressed his hand in mute thanks, and then—declining their hospitable invitation to join their morning meal, on the plea that he had to hasten back to his lodgings with all speed, to pack his valise and catch his train—took leave of the kind family, ran to the corner of the street, boarded a passing car, and rode home. He found breakfast waiting on Annie’s stove, ready to be put on the table, and little Owlet in the seventh heaven of delight at the prospect of being taken immediately home to Lady by Mr. William. Harcourt spent but little time over his repast and then went to his room to pack his bag. Looking around, and remembering that he should never return to that room, and that its simple furniture might be worth something to his kind neighbor, he called her. She came to him promptly.