The club had not been doing well for the last few weeks. Even Bennie Bernstein’s saucy music did not hold the crowds. The reason, of course, was that another man was in Hal Levering’s place. Constance Corthwaite listened to one of his colourless offerings, and then called him to her table. “Where,” she asked, “is Hal Levering? Isn’t he going to be here to-night?” “Nope, he’s left for good.” “Really, how disappointing! Where has he gone?” “Say, lady, you’ll never believe me when I tell you; it’s the funniest thing you ever heard! You know the money he was getting here--fifteen hundred a week and a rake-off, and he part owner at that----” “Really?” “Sure. Well, he came in here one day, nobody expecting it at all, and told ’em he was through--just like that. Through. Told ’em he was going back and be a real Jew, going to give his talent to his people. Can you beat it? They thought he had gone crazy, of course. Fifteen hundred a week and a rake-off--and do you know what he’s done?” The objectionable young man paused dramatically. “Say, he’s studying to be a cantor in a synagogue--can you beat that?--can you?” * * * * * It was a year and more before the Club Levering saw its part owner again. A variety of rumours had floated along Broadway--Levering had gone abroad to study, he had taken a position in a synagogue, he was composing highbrow music--but soon the rumours died away, and all that was left of Levering at his old stamping ground was the flashing red and green sign of the club. Business had fallen off; new places had each in turn engaged the fickle attentions of the city’s night-lovers, and the Club Levering was patronized by only a few stragglers. And then the management decided to make one more bid for popular favour with a new revue. Bennie Bernstein laboured at his piano just as he had the afternoon of Levering’s greatest triumph a year before, but the other performers were new. No one now tried to fill Hal’s shoes; they had to depend on a speeding chorus to cover up a palpable lack. And as Bennie sweated to get the rehearsal into full swing, the service door opened and a familiar voice sang out: “Hel-lo, Bennie, how’ve you been? Making the grade O. K., huh?” It was Hal Levering. “My--God--Hal!” and Bennie leaped from his stool and seized Levering by the shoulders. The other performers gathered around, and to Hal again was given the once so sweet chorus of praise. “Cut it out--cut it out. Let’s get to work here. We gotta give ’em something to knock ’em off their chairs!” Bennie looked at Levering in astonishment. Was he really coming back? It was too good to be true, but here he was, and Bennie ran over to the piano joyfully. His nimble fingers flew up and down the keyboard, and then, triumphantly, he hammered out the first bars of “Abie’s an Irisher Now.” Levering, who had been chatting with the chef, who had come running from the kitchen, whirled about with a white face.