There was a brave and conspicuous assemblage in the dining saloon of a noted hostelry where Fashion loves to display her charms.  At one table sat Billy McMahan and his wife.  Mostly silent they were, but the accessories they enjoyed little needed the indorsement of speech.  Mrs. McMahan’s diamonds were outshone by few in the room.  The waiter bore the costliest brands of wine to their table.  In evening dress, with an expression of gloom upon his smooth and massive countenance, you would look in vain for a more striking figure than Billy’s.

Four tables away sat alone a tall, slender man, about thirty, with thoughtful, melancholy eyes, a Van Dyke beard and peculiarly white, thin hands.  He was dining on filet mignon, dry toast and apollinaris.  That man was Cortlandt Van Duyckink, a man worth eighty millions, who inherited and held a sacred seat in the exclusive inner circle of society.

Billy McMahan spoke to no one around him, because he knew no one.  Van Duyckink kept his eyes on his plate because he knew that every one present was hungry to catch his.  He could bestow knighthood and prestige by a nod, and he was chary of creating a too extensive nobility.

And then Billy McMahan conceived and accomplished the most startling and audacious act of his life.  He rose deliberately and walked over to Cortlandt Van Duyckink’s table and held out his hand.

“Say, Mr. Van Duyckink,” he said, “I’ve heard you was talking about starting some reforms among the poor people down in my district.  I’m McMahan, you know.  Say, now, if that’s straight I’ll do all I can to help you.  And what I says goes in that neck of the woods, don’t it?  Oh, say, I rather guess it does.”

Van Duyckink’s rather sombre eyes lighted up.  He rose to his lank height and grasped Billy McMahan’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. McMahan,” he said, in his deep, serious tones.  “I have been thinking of doing some work of that sort.  I shall be glad of your assistance.  It pleases me to have become acquainted with you.”

Billy walked back to his seat.  His shoulder was tingling from the accolade bestowed by royalty.  A hundred eyes were now turned upon him in envy and new admiration.  Mrs. William Darragh McMahan trembled with ecstasy, so that her diamonds smote the eye almost with pain.  And now it was apparent that at many tables there were those who suddenly remembered that they enjoyed Mr. McMahan’s acquaintance.  He saw smiles and bows about him.  He became enveloped in the aura of dizzy greatness.  His campaign coolness deserted him.

“Wine for that gang!” he commanded the waiter, pointing with his finger.  “Wine over there.  Wine to those three gents by that green bush.  Tell ’em it’s on me.  D——­n it!  Wine for everybody!”

The waiter ventured to whisper that it was perhaps inexpedient to carry out the order, in consideration of the dignity of the house and its custom.

“All right,” said Billy, “if it’s against the rules.  I wonder if ’twould do to send my friend Van Duyckink a bottle?  No?  Well, it’ll flow all right at the caffy to-night, just the same.  It’ll be rubber boots for anybody who comes in there any time up to 2 A. M.”