The worse you treat the women the better they like it. When they used to tell my father about some woman being crazy over a man, he always used to say, 'What sort of a scoundrel is he?' That was good sense." 

 Otto made no reply. No doubt these maxims were sound and wise; but how was he to apply them? How could he pretend indifference when at sight of her he could open his jaws only enough to chatter them, could loosen his tongue only enough to roll it thickly about?  "I can work," he said to himself, "and I can pay my debts and have something over; but when it comes to love I'm no good." 

 

 

 II 

 BRASS OUTSHINES GOLD 

 Hilda returned to her father's shop and was busy there until nine o'clock. Then Sophie Liebers came and they went into the Avenue for a walk. They pushed their way through and with the throngs up into Tompkins Square—the center of one of the several vast districts, little known because little written about, that contain the real New York and the real New Yorkers. In the Square several thousand young people were promenading, many of the girls walking in pairs, almost all the young men paired off, each with a young woman. It was warm, and the stars beamed down upon the hearts of young lovers, blotting out for them electric lights and surrounding crowds. It caused no comment there for a young couple to walk hand in hand, looking each at the other with the expression that makes commonplace eyes wonderful. And when the sound of a kiss came from a somewhat secluded bench, the only glances east in the direction whence it had come were glances of approval or envy. 

 "There's Otto Heilig dogging us," said Hilda to Sophie, as they walked up and down.  "Do you wonder I hate him?"  They talked in American, as did all the young people, except with those of their elders who could speak only German. 

 Sophie was silent. If Hilda had been noting her face she would have seen a look of satisfaction. 

 "I can't bear him," went on Hilda.  "No girl could. He's so stupid and—and common!"  Never before had she used that last word in such a sense. Mr. Feuerstein had begun to educate her. 

 Sophie's unobserved look changed to resentment.  "Of course he's not equal to Mr. Feuerstein," she said.  "But he's a very nice fellow—at least for an ordinary girl."  Sophie's father was an upholsterer, and not a good one. He 

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