THE DITTY-BOX
A Pawnbroker's Story
By OWEN OLIVER
In the course of our dealings over the curiosities that my brother sent home from Burma, Mr. Levy and I became very good friends. When we had finished one of our deals we generally had a chat in the quaint little room behind his queer little shop in the old-world alley frequented by sailormen. On one of these occasions he mentioned that the cigar which he had given me was the brand which he always smoked; and the quality of the cigar suggested opulence.
"If you can afford cigars like this," I remarked, "you must make some pretty good bargains with your curiosities!"
"Good and bad," he said. "That's the way in business—in life, if you come to that!" He was a bit of a philosopher.
"You make more good bargains than bad ones, I'll be bound," I asserted.
"Yes," he agreed; "but it isn't so much that. The bad aren't very bad, as a rule; and some of the good are very good. That's where I get my profit."
"What was the best bargain you ever made?" I asked.
He filled his glass and pushed the decanter toward me.