Red-Cap .15   
Cable car vs. taxi .35  
Chauffeur’s blackmail .15  

Making a promising total of $1.60 already. E. Van Tenner perceived that instead of by a beggar he had been visited by one who was perhaps a prophet. The last item in the account particularly pleased the accountant. He began to suspect that much of the change that he systematically dribbled out was simply the blackmail paid by vanity to extortion. At once he was to meet with a double verification of this. At the hotel desk he asked for a room with bath.   

“Something about five dollars, Mister--er--er?” inquired the official behind the register.  

“Yes,” assented E. Van Tenner, and instantly felt a pang in the purse. “That is--ah--haven’t you anything for four dollars?”  

“Oh, yes; we have some as low as that,” returned the clerk superciliously; “if----”  

He left unfinished a conditional clause that obviously was designed to conclude--“you don’t feel that you can afford a good room.” So frail was E. Van Tenner’s humanity--let him that is without vanity cast the first stone--that he hesitated. He didn’t dare take out the beggar’s purse and look it in the face. But, then, neither did he dare look the supercilious hotel clerk in the face; that is, until----  

“Reservation for J. Q. Smith; room and bath, three dollars,” said a brisk newcomer at his side; and another clerk answered promptly: “Yes, Mr. Smith; Room 1118.”  

“I’ll take the four-dollar room,” said E. Van Tenner firmly; and the clerk, whose supercilious expression was worth thousands per year to the hotel, admitted defeat for once and said: “Very well; will you go up now?”  

No; he decided that he would lunch at once; but first he would wash up. In the washroom, he was beset by a human bluebottle who buzzed round him with a futile and superfluous whisk broom, despite his protests, and all but blocked his way when he sought an egress without paying for it in the form of a tip. But the spirit in the purse was having its way with E. Van Tenner now, and an inspired inquiry as to whether the brush brigand was of military age removed him from the path.  

The next obstacle was more formidable. The door of the café was guarded by two young and unbeautiful descendants of the horseleech’s daughters. Always before he had contributed automatically in response to their unspoken “Give! Give!” though he knew that he was 

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