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... t eight o'clock in the morning the day clerk broker insurance arrived and Ikey started hurriedly for Mrs. Riddle's to learn the outcome.

And, lo! as he stepped out of the store who but Chunk McGowan sprang from a passing street car and grasped his hand--Chunk McGowan with a victor's smile and flushed with joy. "Pulled it off," said Chunk with Elysium in his grin. "Rosy hit the fire-escape on time to a

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second, and we was under the wire at the Reverend's at 9.3O 1/4. She's up at the flat--she cooked eggs this mornin' in a blue kimono--Lord! how lucky I am! You must pace up some day, Ikey, and feed with us. I've got a job down near the bridge, and that's where ThirdPart400_500 I'm heading for now." "The--the--powder?" stammered Ikey. "Oh, that stuff you gave me!" said Chunk, company insurance broadening his grin; "well, it was this way. I sat down at the supper table last night at Riddle's, and I looked at Rosy, and I ThirdPart400_500

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says to myself, 'Chunk, if you get the girl get her on the square--don't try any hocus-pocus with a thoroughbred like her.' And I keeps the paper you give me in my broker insurance pocket. And then my lamps fall on another party present, who, I says to myself, is failin' in a proper affection toward his comin' son-in-law, so I watches my chance and dumps that powder in old man Riddle's coffee--see?" MAMMON AND THE ARCHER Old Anthony Rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor of Rockwall's Eureka Soap, looked out the library window of his Fifth Avenue mansion and grinned.

His neighbour to the right--the aristocratic clubman, G.

Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones--came out to his waiting motor-car, wrinkling a contumelious nostril, as usual, at the Italian renaissance sculpture of the soap palace's front elevation. "Stuck-up old statuette of nothing doing!" commented the ex-Soap King. "The Eden Musee'll get that old frozen Nesselrode yet if he don't watch out. I'll have this house broker insurance painted red, white, and blue next summer and see if that'll make his Dutch nose turn up any higher." And then Anthony Rockwall, who never cared for bells, went to the door of his library and shouted "Mike!" in the same voice that had once chipped off pieces of the welkin on the Kansas prairies. "Tell my son," said Anthony to the answering menial, "to come in here before he leaves

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the house." When young Rockwall entered the library the old man laid broker insurance aside his newspaper, looked at him with a kindly grimness on his big, smooth, ruddy countenance, rumpled his mop of white hair with one hand and rattled the keys in his pocket with the other. "Richard," said Anthony Rockwall, "what do you pay for the soap that you broker mortgage use?" Richard, only six months home from college, was startled a little. He had not yet taken the measure of this sire of his,

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who was as full of unexpectednesses as a girl at her first party. "Six dollars a dozen, I think, dad." "And your clothes?" "I suppose about sixty dollars, as a rule." "You're a gentleman," said Anthony, decidedly. "I've heard of these young bloods spending $24 ThirdPart400_500 a dozen for soap, and going over the hundred mark for clothes. You've got as much money to waste as any of 'em, and yet you stick to what's decent and moderate. Now I use the old Eureka--not only for sentiment, but it's the broker insurance purest soap made. Whenever you pay more than 10 cents a cake for soap you buy bad perfumes and labels. But 50 cents is doing very well for a young man in your generation, position and condition. As I said, you're a gentleman. They say it takes three generations to make one. They're off. Money'll do it as slick as soap grease. It's made you one. By hokey! it's almost made one of me. I'm nearly as impolite and disagreeable and ill-mannered as these two old Knickerbocker gents on each side of me that can't sleep of nights because I mortgage broker bought in between 'em." "There are some things that money can't accomplish," remarked young Rockwall, rather gloomily. "Now, don't say that," said old Anthony, shocked. "I bet my money

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on money every time. I've been through the encyclopaedia down to Y looking for something you can't buy with it; and I expect to have to take up the appendix next week. I'm for money against the field. Tell me something money won't buy." "For one thing," answered Richard, broker insurance rankling a little, "it won't buy one into the exclusive circles of society." "Oho! won't it?" thundered ThirdPart400_500 the champion of the root of evil. "You tell me where your exclusive circles would be if the first Astor hadn't had the money to pay for his steerage passage over?" Richard sighed. "And that's what I was coming to," said the old man, less boisterously. "That's why I asked you to come in. There's something going wrong with you, boy. I've been noticing it for two weeks. Out with it. I guess I could lay my hands on eleven millions within twenty-four hours, besides the real estate. If insurance companies it's your liver, there's the _Rambler_ down in

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the bay, coaled, and ready to steam down to the Bahamas in two days." "Not a bad guess, dad; you haven't missed it broker insurance

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far." "Ah," said Anthony, keenly; "what's her name?" Richard began to walk up and down the library floor. There was enough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his to draw his confidence. "Why don't you ask her?" demanded old Anthony. "She'll jump at you. You've got the money and the looks, and you're a decent boy. Your broker insurance hands are clean. You've got no Eureka soap on 'em. You' ...

 
   
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