“And the change,” he said sharply.
The child laughed cunningly, and held out two small copper coins of the value of half a cent.
Von Holzen filled the tumbler and handed it to the sick man, who a moment later held it out empty.
“You may have as much as you like,” said Von Holzen, kindly.
“Will it keep me alive?”
“Nothing can do that, my friend,” answered Von Holzen. He looked down at the yellow face peering at him from the darkness. It seemed to be the face of a very aged man, with eyes wide open and blood-shot. A thickness of speech was accounted for by the absence of teeth.
The man laughed gleefully. “All the same, I have lived longer than any of them,” he said. How many of us pride ourselves upon possessing an advantage which others never covet!
“Yes,” answered Von Holzen, gravely. “How old are you?”
“Nearly thirty-five,” was the answer.
Von Holzen nodded, and, turning on his heel, looked thoughtfully out of the window. The light fell full on his face, which would have been a fine one were the mouth hidden. The eyes were dark and steady. A high forehead looked higher by reason of a growth of thick hair standing nearly an inch upright from the scalp, like the fur of a beaver in life, without curl or ripple. The chin was long and pointed. A face, this, that any would turn to look at again. One would think that such a man would get on in the world. But none may judge of another in this respect. It is a strange fact that intimacy with any who has made for himself a great name leads to the inevitable conclusion that he is unworthy of it.