“I may not keep in with him.”
“Are you doing pretty well?”
“Yes, for a boy.”
“Have you got a loose quarter about you? I haven’t done much work lately, and am hard up.”
Chester took half a dollar from his pocket and handed it to the elder man. His compassion was stirred as he felt for Radcliff’s humiliation in being obliged to make such an appeal to a boy like himself.
“Thank you. You’re a gentleman. I’ll return it soon,” said Radcliff, looking relieved. “Good luck to you! You’re a good fellow, after all.”
“I wish you good luck, too, Mr. Radcliff.”
Chester did not need to be told what had brought the elder artist into such an impecunious condition. His face with its unnatural flush showed that his habits had been far from creditable.
“If I needed anything to keep me from drinking, Mr. Radcliff’s example would be sufficient,” thought Chester. He had before now been invited to take a drink at some convenient saloon, but he had never been tempted to do so.
Two days later Chester was walking through Union Square when he came face to face with Felix Gordon.