"Please go!" she cried hoarsely. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Why do you torment me!" He only smiled now, and looked grim and determined, as he at last cornered her. Between them was a chair. She got behind it, and grasped the back of it. He halted on the other side, and showed his teeth for a full minute, before he said a word, or a word was spoken. "Did you hear me! Why don't you go! If you were a gentleman, you'd go!" His eyes narrowed to mere slits, and then he suddenly opened them wide. "Just a kiss, dearie, why all this argument. Sometimes it goes so far that it spoils all the sweetness. Just allow me to turn this chair until I can be seated, and then I will draw you down, nicey, upon my knee, and everything is O.K.--see!" He now grasped the chair, which, despite her efforts to hold it as it was, he twisted slowly from her grasp. The next minute he had succeeded, and nothing was between them. He made one step in her direction, whereupon she recoiled in fright. He caught her wrist with his right, and then with the left, he proceeded to encircle her waist. The next moment, she felt his hot breath in her face, and then, with her free hand, she struck him a resounding smack full on his cheek, with all her strength. He released her so quickly, that he staggered backward blindly for a moment. The next he had recovered, while his face was colored with the blood she had brought to it. His eyes were narrower now than ever, while his voice, as he spoke, came in gasps. "Why, you little wench! You little imp! You little fourflusher! You little ---- strike me, when I have kept my head closed all this time, while you sailed about here with these big niggers, the nicest little nicey. Ha! _Nice_--_Hell!_ How long do you figure these church people would kite you about, if I told them _what you were back in Cinci'_!" She flew to the door now, and jerked it wide. A bundle of meat with clothes on, fell in with a scream. It was the black woman, and she had heard all. CHAPTER FIVE _The Time Limit_ "What is the total, Constance?" her brother inquired wearily, as his sister poured over a long list of figures on a balance sheet before her. "In a minute," she said and continued her figuring. Presently, with a sigh she straightened up, and handed him a sheet, showing a list of names, at the right of which was registered various amounts. "Seven thousand six hundred fifty-nine dollars and fifteen cents," he repeated, half aloud. He looked at his sister, and saw in her tired eyes, failure staring them in the face. Unless something extraordinary occurred, the chances of securing a Y.M.C.A. for the colored youth of the city was doomed to failure. He laid the sheet down, and picked up another piece of paper--a letter. He had read it several times, but now he read it again. He didn't want to believe what was written upon it, and signed by the Jew philanthrophist. But it was before him in plain, typewritten words, and was to this effect: