Oh, yes, this heir to an annual million or so had been dreaming and soaring, and had forgotten that pitiful three or four dollars. For penalty he must have it coarsely flung in his face in the presence of these people—people in whose countenances was already beginning to dawn an uncharitable enjoyment of the situation. “Is _that_ all! Take your money and give your terrors a rest.” Tracy’s hand went down into his pocket with angry decision. But—it didn’t come out. The color began to ebb out of his face. The countenances about him showed a growing interest; and some of them a heightened satisfaction. There was an uncomfortable pause—then he forced out, with difficulty, the words: “I’ve—been robbed!” Old Marsh’s eyes flamed up with Spanish fire, and he exclaimed: “Robbed, is it? _That’s_ your tune? It’s too old—been played in this house too often; everybody plays it that can’t get work when he wants it, and won’t work when he can get it. Trot out Mr. Allen, somebody, and let _him_ take a toot at it. It’s _his_ turn next, _he_ forgot, too, last night. I’m laying for him.” One of the negro women came scrambling down stairs as pale as a sorrel horse with consternation and excitement: “Misto Marsh, Misto Allen’s skipped out!” “What!” “Yes-sah, and cleaned out his room _clean;_ tuck bofe towels en de soap!” “You lie, you hussy!” “It’s jes’ so, jes’ as I tells you—en Misto Summer’s socks is gone, en Misto Naylor’s yuther shirt.” Mr. Marsh was at boiling point by this time. He turned upon Tracy: “Answer up now—when are you going to settle?” “To-day—since you seem to be in a hurry.” “_To-day_ is it? Sunday—and you out of work? I like that. Come—where are you going to get the money?” Tracy’s spirit was rising again. He proposed to impress these people: “I am expecting a cablegram from home.” Old Marsh was caught out, with the surprise of it. The idea was so immense, so extravagant, that he couldn’t get his breath at first. When he did get it, it came rancid with sarcasm. “A _cablegram_—think of it, ladies and gents, he’s expecting a cablegram! _He’s_ expecting a cablegram—this duffer, this scrub, this bilk! From his father—eh? Yes—without a doubt. A dollar or two a word—oh, that’s nothing—_they_ don’t mind a little thing like that—_this_ kind’s fathers don’t. Now his father is—er—well, I reckon his father—” “My father is an English earl!” The crowd fell back aghast-aghast at the sublimity of the young loafer’s “cheek.” Then they burst into a laugh that made the windows rattle. Tracy was too angry to realize that he had done a foolish thing. He said: “Stand aside, please. I—” “Wait a minute, your lordship,” said Marsh, bowing low, “where is your lordship going?” “For the cablegram. Let me pass.” “Excuse me, your lordship, you’ll stay right where you are.” “What do you mean by that?”