As records prove that ninety per cent of the demand for books at the public libraries is for works of fiction, it strikes us that the reading public would do better to patronize the S. & S. novel list which contains hundreds of books to be found in the public libraries, and many hundreds of others just as good and interesting. The price of the S. & S. novels is a low one indeed to pay for protection from disease-laden literature. Why run the risk, then, when you can get a fresh, clean book for little money and thus insure your health? STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_ NEW YORK TOYING WITH FATE. CHAPTER I. THE MYSTERIOUS OLD MAN. “Move on, old man, and go home!” It was the stern voice of one of New York’s finest policemen that uttered these words. “Home! I wonder where it is?” muttered the old man to whom the policeman had spoken, and a shudder ran through his frame, as he slowly moved down the street. As he reached the corner near old St. John’s Church, on Varick Street, he paused, rubbed his eyes and gazed dreamily around him. For some time before the policeman had addressed him he had been standing inside the church, looking through the railings into the churchyard. His form was bent by decrepitude and sorrow, and his hair was as white as the flaky snow that clung to the steeple of the old church, the bells of which had just sounded the knell of the dying year. The old man only halted on the corner for a minute, and then, crossing Beach Street, he shuffled along until he reached the center of the block, where he came to a standstill in front of an old-fashioned house, which was unoccupied. Then, as if a faintness had come over him, he grasped the rusty iron railing to prevent himself falling to the ground, and he closed his eyes, as though the sight of the snow-covered houses was too much for him. The policeman had followed him at a distance, and was watching him from where he was standing on the corner. “Poor devil!” muttered the guardian of the peace, as he swung his nightstick back and forth. “I wonder who he is! He seems weak! Perhaps at one time he amounted to something. God save me from ever coming to his condition. I wonder why he stands so long in front of that old empty house, which has been closed for twenty years, to my knowledge! I’ll watch him a while, but I won’t molest him, poor devil!” As the policeman concluded his soliloquy the old man straightened up and walked up to the door of the house, the old knocker on which he caught hold of and gave it a rap. But suddenly, as if struck by some painful recollection, his hand fell to his side and he staggered back to the middle of the sidewalk. “Strange,” the policeman ejaculated, noting this action. “Perhaps he lived there at one time.” The old man looked up at the house, at which he gazed long and intently.