Then arose one from a seat near the leaping fountain, and came and sat himself at Vallance’s side.  He was either young or old; cheap lodging-houses had flavoured him mustily; razors and combs had passed him by; in him drink had been bottled and sealed in the devil’s bond.  He begged a match, which is the form of introduction among park benchers, and then he began to talk.

“You’re not one of the regulars,” he said to Vallance.  “I know tailored clothes when I see ’em.  You just stopped for a moment on your way through the park.  Don’t mind my talking to you for a while?  I’ve got to be with somebody.  I’m afraid—­I’m afraid.  I’ve told two or three of those bummers over about it.  They think I’m crazy.  Say—­let me tell you—­all I’ve had to eat to-day was a couple pretzels and an apple.  To-morrow I’ll stand in line to inherit three millions; and that restaurant you see over there with the autos around it will be too cheap for me to eat in.  Don’t believe it, do you?

“Without the slightest trouble,” said Vallance, with a laugh.  “I lunched there yesterday.  To-night I couldn’t buy a five-cent cup of coffee.”

“You don’t look like one of us.  Well, I guess those things happen.  I used to be a high-flyer myself—­some years ago.  What knocked you out of the game?”

“I—­oh, I lost my job,” said Vallance.

“It’s undiluted Hades, this city,” went on the other.  “One day you’re eating from china; the next you are eating in China—­a chop-suey joint.  I’ve had more than my share of hard luck.  For five years I’ve been little better than a panhandler.  I was raised up to live expensively and do nothing.  Say—­I don’t mind telling you—­I’ve got to talk to somebody, you see, because I’m afraid—­I’m afraid.  My name’s Ide.  You wouldn’t think that old Paulding, one of the millionaires on Riverside Drive, was my uncle, would you?  Well, he is.  I lived in his house once, and had all the money I wanted.  Say, haven’t you got the price of a couple of drinks about you—­er—­what’s your name—­”

“Dawson,” said Vallance.  “No; I’m sorry to say that I’m all in, financially.”

“I’ve been living for a week in a coal cellar on Division Street,” went on Ide, “with a crook they called ‘Blinky’ Morris.  I didn’t have anywhere else to go.  While I was out to-day a chap with some papers in his pocket was there, asking for me.  I didn’t know but what he was a fly cop, so I didn’t go around again till after dark.  There was a letter there he had left for me.  Say—­Dawson, it was from a big downtown lawyer, Mead.  I’ve seen his sign on Ann Street.  Paulding wants me to play the prodigal nephew—­wants me to come back and be his heir again and blow in his money.  I’m to call at the lawyer’s office at ten to-morrow and step into my old shoes again—­heir to three million, Dawson, and $10,000 a year pocket money.  And—­I’m afraid—­I’m afraid.”

The vagrant leaped to his feet and raised both trembling arms above his head.  He caught his breath and moaned hysterically.