First Avenue Hilda stopped.  "I'll go through to Stuyvesant Square," she said, "and wait there on a bench near the Sixteenth Street entrance. You'll be quick, won't you?" 

 Sophie went to Mr. Feuerstein's number and rang. After a long wait a slovenly girl in a stained red wrapper, her hair in curl-papers and one stocking down about her high-heeled slipper, opened the door and said: "What do you want? I sent the maid for a pitcher of beer." 

 "I want to ask about Mr. Feuerstein," replied Sophie. 

 The girl's pert, prematurely-wrinkled face took on a quizzical smile. "Oh!" she said.  "You can go up to his room. Third floor, back. Knock hard—he's a heavy sleeper." 

 Sophie climbed the stairs and knocked loudly.  "Come!" was the answer in German, in Mr. Feuerstein's deep stage-voice. 

 She opened the door a few inches and said through the crack: "It's me, Mr. Feuerstein—Sophie Liebers—from down in Avenue A—Hilda's friend." 

 "Come in," was Mr. Feuerstein's reply, in a weary voice, after a pause. From Ganser's he had come straight home and had been sitting there ever since, depressed, angry, perplexed. 

 Sophie pushed the door wide and stood upon the threshold. "Hilda's over in Stuyvesant Square," she said.  "She thought you might be sick, so we came. But if you go to her, you must pretend you came by accident and didn't see me." 

 Mr. Feuerstein reflected, but not so deeply that he neglected to pose before Sophie as a tragedy-king. And it called for little pretense, so desperate and forlorn was he feeling. Should he go or should he send Sophie about her business? There was no hope that the rich brewer would take him in; there was every reason to suspect that Peter would arrange to have the marriage quietly annulled. At most he could get a few thousands, perhaps only hundreds, by threatening a scandal. Yes, it would be wise, on the whole, to keep little Hilda on the string. 

 "I am very ill," he said gloomily, "but I will go." 

 Sophie felt hopeful and energetic again.  "I won't come up to her till you leave her." 

 "You are a good girl—a noble creature."  Mr. Feuerstein took her hand and pretended to be profoundly moved by her friendship. 

 Sophie gave him a look of simplicity 

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