Little by little, with adroit use of the detective faculty of the modern reporter, he extracted from Webb the tale of his years—even the extent of his fortune. The young aspirant's ingenuousness made him gasp more than once; but he had too kindly a nature to state to Webb the hopelessness of his case. His new friend was manly and generous, and had won from him a sincere liking, tempered with pity. Better let him find out for himself how things stood; then, when his eyes were open, steer him out of his difficulties.
He rose in a few moments. "Well," he said, cheerily, "I wish I were Lancaster. I might be able to do something for you: but I'm not in it—not for a cent. You may as well take in the passing show, however. The first Casino hop is on to-night. Put on your togs and go."
"Anybody there?" asked Andrew, loftily.
"Oh, rather. All the cottagers will be there, or a goodly number of them. And it's a pretty sight."
"But how can I get in?"
"By paying the sum of one dollar, old man."
Andrew's cigar dropped from his mouth.
"Do you mean to say that they go to a place and dance—in full dress—on the floor—with everybody? Why, any one can pay a dollar."
Chapman laughed. "Oh!—well—go and see how it is for yourself. Meet me in the gallery at ten, and I'll tell you who's who. Au revoir."