Smith; Room 1118."

"I'll take the four-dollar room," said E. Van Tenner firmly; and the clerk, whose supercilious expression was worth thousands per year to the hotel, admitted defeat for once and said: "Very well; will you go up now?"

No; he decided that he would lunch at once; but first he would wash up. In the washroom he was beset by a human bluebottle who buzzed round him with a futile and superfluous whisk broom, despite his protests, and all but blocked his way when he sought an egress without paying for it in the form of a tip. But the spirit in the purse was having its way with E. Van Tenner now, and an inspired inquiry as to whether the brush brigand was of military age removed him from the path.

The next obstacle was more formidable. The door of the café was guarded by two young and unbeautiful descendants of the horseleech's daughters. Always before he had contributed automatically in response to their unspoken "Give! Give!" though he knew that he was only enriching some unknown capitalist in the background who rented this particular blackmailing privilege from the hotel for eight thousand dollars per year. But—what would the fearsome beggar's purse say or do should he attempt to extract the minimum of ten cents to protect him from their cackle of disdain? Fortified as he was he could now face the contempt of man but not of these befrizzled Amazons. Yet to pass them while retaining possession of hat and coat was impossible. Already their grasping hands were extended for his apparel. E. Van Tenner turned and fled.

Do not assume, however, that his retreat was caused by cowardice alone. Ingenuity, doubtless instigated by the beggar's purse, is entitled to half credit. E. Van Tenner took the elevator—free—to his room and hung his hat and coat—gratis—in the clothes press. The room, he noted with satisfaction, was precisely the same as the five-dollar variety except that it was a few floors higher. He entered one dollar saved on room, ten cents each on washroom and coat check; and descending passed, unarmored but unscathed, the gantlet of the disarmed horseleech's great-granddaughters. Already his total was two dollars and eighty cents. Good progress toward one stamp!

Upon his return to the room to resume his cast-off garments some indefinite discomfort in the region of his left big toe attracted E. Van Tenner's unfavorable notice. Could the magic wallet have established connections in that quarter? It seemed highly improbable. Investigation supplied a simpler reason—a large hole yawned in his sock. A block distant was a high-class department store. Thither he made his way, and was presently applying a rather exigent taste in hosiery to the consideration of some chastely fancy designs in striped silk. Three dollars was about his usual price. But, came the chilling thought, what would the purse say or do? Tentatively he drew it forth. It made no protest. The legend "What's the good?" had lost its accusing aspect.

"After all," reflected E. Van Tenner, "the beggar said that I wasn't to scrimp myself." Then to the clerk: "I'll take this pair."

Still maintaining, strict neutrality the wallet gave of its wealth. He returned it to his breast pocket.

"Will you take them with you, sir?" asked the salesman.

"No. Send them to——Ouch!"

"To where?" The man lifted startled eyes above a poised pencil.

"I'll have them sent to the——Ugh!"

It was most astounding! The magic purse, quiescent during the deal, was now catching at his breath like an ice-water douche over the heart. Had it gone back on the bargain? Must he give up those chaste yet sprightly socks? Not without a struggle.

"Could you deliver them this afternoon?"

"We could if it isn't too far."

"Then have them sent to——Oh, Lord! No use!"

"Are you ill, sir?" asked the floorwalker, approaching anxiously.

Some unknown incitement forced a question to E. Van Tenner's lips: "See here, does it cost you anything to deliver goods?"