"Nonsense--I wouldn't accept help of that sort. I'm not reduced to soliciting charity yet. I guess I'd prefer the river to that. But if you hear of anything, keep me in mind." The athlete made no response. He was apparently lost in thought when suddenly he blurted out: "Say, Jeffries, you haven't got any money, have you--say a couple of thousand dollars?" Howard stared at the questioner as if he doubted his sanity. "Two thousand dollars!" he gasped. "Do you suppose that I'd be wearing out shoe leather looking for a job, if I had two thousand dollars?" Coxe looked disappointed as he replied: "Oh, of course, I understand you haven't it on you, only I thought you might be able to raise it." "Why do you ask?" inquired Howard, his curiosity aroused. Coxe looked around to see if any one was listening. Then in a whisper he said: "It's a cinch. If you had $2,000, you and I could make a snug little fortune. Don't you understand? In my office I get tips. I'm on the inside. I know in advance what the big men are going to do. When they start to move a certain stock up, I'm on the job. Understand? If you had $2,000, I could raise as much, and we'd pool our capital, starting in the business ourselves--on a small scale, of course. If we hit it right we might make a nice income." Howard's mouth watered. Certainly that was the kind of life he liked best. The feverish excitement of gambling, the close association with rich men, the promise of a luxurious style of living--all this appealed to him strongly. But what was the use? Where could he get $2,000? He couldn't go to his father. He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, old sport," he said as they left the saloon and he held out his hand to say good-by. "But I'll bear it in mind, and if things improve, I'll look you up. So long!" Climbing wearily up the dirty stairs of the elevated railroad, he bought a ticket with one of the few nickels remaining in his pocket, and taking a seat in a northbound train started on his trip back to Harlem. The day was overcast, rain threatened. A pall of mingled smoke and mist hung over the entire city. From the car window as the train wound its serpentine course in and out the maze of grimy offices, shops and tenements, everything appeared drab, dirty and squalid. New York was seen at its ugliest. Ensconced in a cross-seat, his chin leaning heavily on his hand, Howard gazed dejectedly out of the window. The depressing outlook was in keeping with his own state of mind.