Hamar next tried to dispose of it down the area of a Chinese laundry; but a policeman saw him, and he only escaped being taken up on suspicion, by parting with a dollar. This was the climax. He did not dare make any further attempt to dispose of the book, but, with bitter hatred in his heart, tucked it savagely under his arm, and made direct for his room in 115th Street. To his annoyance--for under the circumstances he preferred to be alone--he found two men sitting in front of his empty hearth. They were Matt Kelson and Ed Curtis; both of whom had been his colleagues at Meidler, Meidler & Co., in Sacramento Street, and like himself had been thrown out of work when the firm had "smashed." Since that affair Hamar had studiously avoided them. It was true he had once been as friendly with them as he deemed it politic to be friendly with any one; but now--they were out of employment, and in danger of starvation. That made all the difference. He did not believe in poverty encouraging poverty, any more than he believed in charity among beggars. He had nothing to share with them, not even a thought; and resolving to get rid of his quondam friends as soon as possible, he confined his welcome to a frown. "Hulloa! what's the matter?" Kelson exclaimed. "When a man frowns like that, it usually means he is crossed in love." "Or has an empty stomach, which amounts to the same thing," Curtis interposed. "Come--let the sun loose, Leon! We've good news for you!--haven't we, Matt?" Kelson nodded. "What is it, then?" Hamar grunted. "Have you both got cancer?" "No! We've come to borrow from you!" "Then you've come to the wrong shop! I'm about done, and unless something turns up mighty quick I shall clear out." "For good?" "I don't count on being a ghost nor yet an angel," Hamar said; "when we've done here, I reckon we've done altogether!" "I shouldn't have thought suicide was in your line," Curtis remarked. "More Matt's. I should have credited you with something more original." "Original!" Hamar snarled. "I defy any man to be original when he hasn't a cent, and his stomach contains nothing but air. Give me money, give me food--then, perhaps, I'll be original." "You don't mean to say you're cleared out of grub!" Kelson and Curtis cried in chorus. "We've come to you as our last hope. We've neither of us tasted anything since yesterday." "Then you'll taste nothing again to-day--at least as far as I'm concerned," Hamar jeered. "I tell you I'm broke--haven't as much as a crumb in the room; and I've pawned everything, save the clothes you see me in!" "And yet you can buy books--unless--unless you stole it!" Curtis said, eyeing with suspicion the volume Hamar had thrown on the table. "Buy it! Not much!" Hamar cried quickly. "It's one I've had all my life. Belonged to my grandfather. I took it with me to-night to see what I could raise on it."