She regarded him for a moment in silence and then,

"You do belong to some of the clubs, then?"

"Oh, yes. The Cosmos, the b.u.t.terfly and several others--" He broke off with a laugh. "You see, I'm supposed to be something of a swell"--

"You don't look much of a swell today," she said with a glance at his clothes. "And Finnegan's, though exclusive for the Bowery, is hardly what might be called smart. I _am_ curious, Jerry. Curiosity is one of my besetting sins--otherwise I'd never have gotten inside your wall.

I've been wondering what on earth you could have been doing in Finnegan's saloon."

Jerry sipped at his tea and was silent. The girl's eyes still questioned good-humoredly and then, still smiling, looked away. But Jerry would not speak. A coward she had once called him. Was it that he feared her sober judgment of this wild plan of his? Did he see something hazardous in the conservatism of her calm slate-blue eyes that would put his new mode of thought, his new habit of mind to tests which they might not survive?

"I--I said it was on business of Flynn's," he evaded at last. "He's a very good friend of mine. It wouldn't interest you in the least, you know," he finished lamely.

"Possibly not," she said calmly. "I hope you'll forgive my impertinence."

He felt the change in her tone and was up in arms at once. "Don't talk in that way, Una. I'd let you know if there was any possible use." He paused and then decidedly, "But there isn't, you see. Won't you take my word for it?"

She laughed at his serious demeanor.

"You know I _am_ a curious creature, unduly so about this. But you _do_ seem a little like the Caliph in the Arabian Nights, or Prince Florizel in London. You aren't a second-story man, are you? Or a member of a suicide club?"

He gazed at her in perplexity and then laughed. "You're just as real as ever, aren't you?"

"Real! I should hope so. But _you_ aren't. The first time I see you, you're a woodland philosopher, living on berries and preaching in the wilderness; the second time, you're merely a caged enthusiast without a mission; the third time you're Haroun al Raschid, smoking cigarettes at Finnegan's. I wonder what you're going to be next."

He felt the light sting of irony, but her humor disarmed him.

"I'm not going to be anything else," he said slowly. "And I'm not an enthusiast without a mission. I may have been then, but I'm not now.

You don't just understand. I'm pretty busy in a way, learning the ropes, business, social and all the rest of them, but I'm not idle.

I'm learning something all the time, Una, and I'm going to try to help--I can, too."

"Do you really mean that?" she asked incredulously when he paused.

"Yes, I mean it. I want to try to help right away, if you'll let me.

See here, Una--" He leaned across the table in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "I don't want you to think that I've ever said anything I don't mean. I said up there at Horsham Manor that I wanted to help you in your work, and I'm going to prove it to you that whatever your doubts of me I haven't changed my purposes. You didn't believe me when I said I'd been hunting for you. You don't have to, if you don't want to, but you'll have to believe me now when I tell you that I want to set aside a fund for you to use--to administer yourself. Oh, you needn't be surprised. I've got more money than I know what to do with.

It's rotting in a bank--piling up. I don't want it. I don't need it, and I want you to take some of it right away and put it where it will do the most good. You've got to take it--you've got to, if only to prove that you don't believe me insincere. I'm going to start giving money now and if you don't help me I'll have to ask somebody else. I'd rather have you do it, personally, than work through some big charity organization, that would spend seven or eight dollars, in overhead charges, before they could distribute one. That kind of charity is all very well and does fine work, I suppose, but I want to feel that I'm helping personally--directly. I'll want to pitch in down here some day and do what I can myself. You've got to do it, Una--let me give you some money to start with right away, won't you?"

He paused breathless awaiting her reply. Her face was turned toward me during the whole of Jerry's rather long speech and I watched the play of emotion upon her features. She had been prepared, I suppose, from the appearance of Jerry's companions at Finnegan's, to find her woodland idyl shattered, and she followed Jerry word by word through his boyish outburst, incredulously at first, then earnestly and then eagerly. She had an unusually expressive countenance and the transition I observed was the more illuminating in the light of my previous knowledge of their acquaintance. Jerry was enthroned again, panoplied in virtues.

"You almost take my breath way," she said at last. "It's very bewildering," she smiled. "But are you sure you're--" she paused. "I mean, isn't there someone else to be consulted?"

"No," he cried, I think a little triumphantly. "No one, I'm my own master. I can do as I please. How much do you want, Una? Would five thousand help? Five thousand right away? And then five thousand more the first of each month?"

She started back in her chair and gazed at him in an expression of mingled incredulity and dismay.

"Five thou--!"

"And five thousand a month," Jerry repeated firmly.

"You can't mean--"

"I do. See here. I'll show you."

He felt in his pockets, I suppose for his check-book,--but could not find it. Naturally! It evidently wasn't a habit of the pugilist Robinson to carry about in his hand-me-down suit a check-book carrying a bank balance of forty or fifty thousand dollars. He was rather put out at not finding it and felt that she must still consider his magnificent offer somewhat doubtfully.

"Well, I'll send it to you tomorrow. You'll see if I don't."

The boy was uppermost in him now and I saw the gay flash of her eye which recognized it--the enthusiast of Horsham Manor who wanted to help cure the "plague spots."

"I knew it," she laughed at him. "I knew you'd be somebody else if I only waited long enough. Now you're Prester John and Don Quixote rolled into one. You propose by the simple process of financing the operation to turn our slums into Happy Valleys, our missions into gardens of resurrection. It's a very beautiful purpose, Jerry, quite worthy of your colorful imagination, but the modern philanthropist doesn't wed his Danae with a shower of gold. He's discovered that it's very likely to turn her head."

"But if it's wisely given--" he put in peevishly.

"Oh, wisely! That's just the point."

"It ought not to be so difficult."

She smiled at him soberly.

"Charity isn't merely giving money, Jerry," she said. "Money sometimes does more harm than good."

"I can't see that."

"It's quite true. We try to keep people from being dependent. What you propose is a kind of philanthropic chaos. If I used your money as freely as you would like, it wouldn't be long before half the people in my district would be living on you--giving nothing--no effort, no work, no self-respect in return. You don't mind if I say so, but that sort of thing isn't charity, Jerry. It's merely sentimental tomfoolery which might by accident do some good, but would certainly do much harm."

Jerry's eyes opened wide as he listened. She was frank enough, but I couldn't help admitting to myself that she was quite wise. Jerry was discovering that it wasn't so easy to help as he had supposed.

Whatever he may have thought of her theories of social science, he made no comment upon them.

"Then you won't let me help you?" he asked quite meekly, for Jerry.

"Oh, no," she smiled coolly. "I didn't say that. I was merely trying to show you what the difficulties are. We're very glad to get voluntary contributions when we're sure just what we can do with them.

I know of several cases now--"

"Yes," eagerly. "Whatever you need--"

"But five thousand--"

"Couldn't you use it?" eagerly.

She paused and then smiled brightly across the table at him.

"I'll try to, Jerry."

"And the five thousand a month?" he urged. "Oh, you don't know, Una.

It isn't a third of my income even now and later I've got more--so much that I'm sick thinking of it. You've got to use it, somehow. If you can't help the women, use it on the men, or the children--"

"We might add a day nursery--" she murmured thoughtfully.

"Yes, that's it--a day nursery--wonderful thing--a day nursery. Add two of 'em. You must. You've got to plan; and if your organization isn't big enough to handle it, you must get the right people to help you."