"What will you loan me on this magnificent diamond ring?"

The p.a.w.nbroker took the box, and drawing out the ring held it up in the best light. He examined it through a magnifying gla.s.s, and a gleam of intelligence flashed in his face.

He returned to the counter, and scrutinizing the young man who had presented it asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "What do you want to borrow on the ring, my friend?"

"Two hundred dollars," answered the customer promptly.

"Humph!" said the p.a.w.nbroker with an amused smile, "two hundred dollars is a large sum of money."

"Yes, but the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars. I am asking a little more than half price."

"So! the ring cost three hundred and fifty dollars! Did you pay that price for it?"

"No, the ring does not belong to me."

"Then to whom does it belong?"

"To my aunt, Mrs. Philip Montgomery."

"I do not know the lady. Does she live in the city?"

"No, she lives in Buffalo."

"And she sent the ring to you?"

"Yes, she sent it to me. She is in want of a little money, and did not like to ask her husband for it, for he might not be pleased. So she wants to borrow money on this ring which was given her by her brother at the time of her marriage."

"So, so! And your aunt would like me to lend her two hundred dollars on the ring?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think you will have to carry it to some other p.a.w.nbroker, my friend!"

"I don't mind taking a little less," said the young man, who was anxious for more than one reason to realize on the ring at once.

"How much now do you call a little less?"

"Well, say a hundred and seventy-five dollars. Probably my aunt will be able to redeem it in a few weeks."

"If I give you a hundred and seventy-five dollars," laughed the p.a.w.nbroker, "I think your aunt will let me keep it for good."

"As to that," said the young man impatiently, "I can make no promises.

How much will you give on it?"

"I might give you a dollar and a half," answered the p.a.w.nbroker composedly.

"A dollar and a half!" exclaimed the young man, clutching at the counter for support. "A dollar and a half on this magnificent diamond ring, for which my aunt paid three hundred and fifty dollars! What do you mean?"

"I mean not to be cheated, my friend. How much do you think this _magnificent_ ring is worth?"

"I have told you what it cost."

"My friend, you are very much mistaken. The ring cost only three dollars or three and a half."

"What do you mean?" gasped the visitor, turning pale.

"I mean that it is not diamond, but paste."

"But--it came from a jeweler of great reputation. Surely you have heard of Mr. Henry Swan."

"Yes, I have heard of Mr. Swan. If you will bring him here, and he will say that the diamond is real, I will see if I can't give you more."

"Wait!" said the customer hurriedly, drawing out the other casket. "Look at this ring, and tell me what it is worth."

The p.a.w.nbroker took it to the window and examined it attentively.

"That may be worth four dollars," he answered, after a brief pause.

"And is this stone false also?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Then I won't p.a.w.n either. Here, give me back both rings."

"Here they are."

"I am afraid you are not a good judge of diamonds. I am sure they are real."

"Go somewhere else, my friend, and satisfy yourself. If you can find any one in my line who will give you five dollars for either, you had better take it and call yourself a fortunate man. Will you leave your name?"

"My name is Hamilton Schuyler, and I live on Second Avenue."

"It is a very good name, my friend. I think you must belong to the Four Hundred."

"I do," answered Schuyler haughtily.

"It is a pity you should have to p.a.w.n your aunt's diamonds, and such diamonds!" chuckled the p.a.w.nbroker.

But Mr. Schuyler had already left the shop, and was hurrying along the avenue to another of the same cla.s.s at which he had occasionally had dealings.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. SCHUYLER HAS A BAD TIME.

"I SHALL have to stay here till I am let out," thought Mark.