Birdie patted him on the back.
"Don't think about it," she said. "Take your mind off it. To-day your property gets sold and Popper says he will be down at the salesroom at twelve o'clock."
"Let 'em sell it," Philip cried; "I don't care."
He turned away after a hurried embrace, and was proceeding down Lenox Avenue toward the subway when Marks Henochstein, the real-estate broker, encountered him. Marks clutched him by the shoulder.
"Well, Philip," Henochstein cried, "you are in luck at last."
"In luck!" Philip exclaimed bitterly. "A dawg shouldn't have the luck what I got it."
"Well, if you don't call it lucky," Henochstein continued, "what would you call it lucky?"
"Excuse me, Henochstein," said Philip; "I ain't good at guessing puzzles. What am I lucky for?"
"Why, ain't you heard it yet?"
"I ain't heard nothing," Philip replied. "Do me the favour and don't keep me on suspension."