"Now, see here, sport," he began--a favorite expression of his, "sport"--with his face abeam, "what's the use you and me quarreling? It's Christmas Eve, ain't it? It's a shame! Come on, let's have a drink and then go out to dinner." "Well," I said, rather uncompromisingly, for at times his seemingly extreme success and well-being irritated me, "I'll have a drink, but as for dinner I have another engagement." "Aw, don't say that. What's the use being sore? You know I always feel the same even if we do quarrel at times. Cut it out. Come on. You know I'm your brother, and you're mine. It's all right with me, Thee. Let's make it up, will you? Put 'er there! Come on, now. We'll go and have a drink, see, something hot--it's Christmas Eve, sport. The old home stuff." He smiled winsomely, coaxingly, really tenderly, as only he could smile. I "gave in." But now as we entered the nearest shining bar, a Christmas crowd buzzing within and without (it was the old Fifth Avenue Hotel), a new thought seemed to strike him. "Seen E---- lately?" he inquired, mentioning the name of the troubled sister who was having a very hard time indeed. Her husband had left her and she was struggling over the care of two children. "No," I replied, rather shamefacedly, "not in a week or two--maybe more." He clicked his tongue. He himself had not been near her in a month or more. His face fell, and he looked very depressed. "It's too bad--a shame really. We oughtn't to do this way, you know, sport. It ain't right. What do you say to our going around there," it was in the upper thirties, "and see how she's making out?--take her a few things, eh? Whaddya say?" I hadn't a spare dollar myself, but I knew well enough what he meant by "take a few things" and who would pay for them.