“When did you have anything to eat last?” asked the conductor suddenly. “Not since yesterday morning,” answered Stephen. “Well, you go right into that car” (he pointed forward with his thumb) “and eat. I’ll make it all right with the dining-car people.” “That is too much,” said Loring. “I can’t”— The conductor cut him short. “Some time when you have the money, you can pay me back. If you don’t ever have it, don’t worry. No, you mustn’t thank me any more. It is just that you are an American, and I don’t like to see a fellow from the States up against it in this Godforsaken land.” As Loring walked through the train, his blood tingled with the pride of race and citizenship, tingled with the glow that comes or should come to every man, when he realizes the strength of the great brotherhood to which he belongs: realizes that when things are stripped to their elemental facts, and the veneer of international courtesy and friendliness removed, he is standing shoulder to shoulder with his countrymen against the world. When at last the train drew into the “City,” Stephen said a warm good-bye to his benefactor, then followed the line of passengers out into the street. With no definite purpose in mind, he wandered up and down the city, staring idly into the shop windows. By accident, he found himself in a great plaza. He was pleased with the gaiety. “If it were not for economic distress, I should be very well off,” he thought. “I must get work somewhere, and immediately.” He walked up one of the side streets, looking at all the signs, hoping that one might give him a clew. For a long time he saw nothing helpful, and he was on the brink of discouragement, when his eye was attracted by a large gilt umbrella on the next corner, hung out over the street. Beneath it was a Spanish sign to the effect that umbrellas could be bought, sold, or repaired within. In the window was a large placard: “We speak English.” “If I were skilful with my hands,” thought Loring, “I might get a job repairing here; but I am not skilful with my hands.” He stood reflecting, his hands deep in his pockets. An idea soon came to him, for he had always been more resourceful than successful. He walked boldly into the shop, and approached the proprietor. The man began to assume the smile with which he welcomed prospective buyers, noticed Loring’s clothes, and checking the smile, waited in silence for him to speak. Stephen, unabashed, smiled in a most friendly fashion, and a few words of comment upon the admirable situation of the shop, and the excellence of the stock, quite won the owner’s confidence. After a few moments of conversation, in a guile-free manner he asked: “And do you do much repairing here?” “No,” the proprietor admitted, “very little. Most of my business is to buy and sell.” “It seems strange that in a big city such as this there should be no demand for repairs?”