The Pearl Brooch

MISS KITTY MAHONEY saw it first. It was in Sol Solomon's window on Upper Main Street As the pearl brooch plays an important part in this story, it might be just as well to describe it. It was about the size of a silver half dol lar, and of the circular design known as a sun burst. From its center tiny pearls radiated in graceful curves, said center being marked and accentuated by a diamond almond as large as the head of a pin. When Miss Mahoney's eyes fell upon this gem of the jeweler's art it was reposing chastely upon a square of black velvet, flanked on one side by a rubber-handled revolver and upon the other by a collection of ancient coins. Beside the velvet was a card, upon which was written: ' * A Genuine Bargain!" "Oh, see that pearl thing!" cried Miss Mahoney. "Don't you think it's elegant, Mr. Beaver? I always did love pearls," Oscar Beaver squinted critically along his five-cent cigar, shifted his weight from one foot Ifco the other, and replied heavily: 1 ' Uh-huh! "he said. "Sure I" Mr. Beaver was not a brilliant conversationalist. Physically and mentally, he was constructed along heavy, durable lines. Words came from him reluctantly and in small instal ments. Just because a young man does not talk with the thoughtless abandon of a parrot, it does not necessarily follow that he cannot think. Oscar Beaver was thinking deeply and with all the concentration at his command. There returned to his memory a chance remark dropped by Miss Mahoney half an hour before: "My birthday is next month. On the tenth." Even a very stupid young man might have traced some subtle connection between that statement and the voluble admiration of the pearl brooch. Miss Mahoney noticed his preoccupied air, and as they moved away from the window she said: "Mr. Beaver, I wouldn't wish to have you think for a minute that I'm like some girls, hint ing around for a birthday present. I hope 1 got too much pride for that. But wasn't that a lovely piece of jew'lry?" "Uh-huh!" said Mr. Beaver. "Sure was." During the rest of the evening Mr. Beaver was more silent than usual, and at eleven o'clock, when Mr. Solomon was closing up for the night, he had a caller. "What do you get for that pearl thing in the window?" demanded the visitor abruptly. "Vich pearl thing?" asked the proprietor. "That round thing with the diamond in the middle of it." "Oh, dot sunburst!" said Mr. Solomon, suddenly beaming with enthusiasm. "Ah, my friend, dot is a real bargain. Genuine pearls. No imidation stuff. No gold plate. All good goods. I give you my word." "Nix!" said Mr. Beaver shortly. Mr. Solomon sighed. "To you, "said he, and his smile would have melted ice. * ' I make the price forty-seven dol lars. If I should let you have it for forty-six I lose money. Wait, my friend, I show it to you. You know real pearls when you see 'em, and" "Uh-huh!" said Mr. Beaver as he vanished through the front door. "Hey! Come back!" wailed Mr. Solomon. "Take it for forty dollars!" Oscar Beaver did not hear him, and it would have made no difference if he had. Seven dol lars one way or the other mattered little, and it was the first question which lingered in the young man's mind as he swung down the street. Forty-seven dollars! So far as Oscar was concerned, the price of the pearl brooch might as well have been forty-seven hundred. It would have made the possession of the trinket no less remote. When a young man wrestles heavy packing cases at twenty-five cents an hour, and has a mother and two small sisters to support — and does it — there is very little left in the pay envelope for pearl brooches. Forty-seven dollars! And Miss Mahoney's birthday was on the tenth of next month. Oscar Beaver walked down the street, turning the pearl brooch over and over in his mind — always with the price tag attached. Plainly the thing couldn't be done short of a miracle, and Oscar Beaver had small acquaintance with miracles. Miss Kitty Mahoney was the nearest thing to one which had ever come into his dull life. Forty-seven dollars! Oscar Beaver shook his head. No, it couldn't be done. The next morning he had no appetite, and his mother questioned him anxiously: "Don't you feel well this morning, son? You ain't touched your fried mush." "Aw, I'm all right," said Oscar stolidly. "Where was you last night?" asked the mother. * ' Out with the boys I" "Naw!" said the son. "I was just walking around." "Maybe you didn't get enough sleep," sug gested Mrs. Beaver. "It was late when you got in." "Uh-huh!" said Oscar. Mrs. Beaver looked after him as he left the house, his lunch pail in his hand. "I hope he ain't going to be sick," she said. "He's been acting kind of funny lately. It ain't like him not to relish his food. If he should get sick now" Illness is a luxury which no young man can afford at the rate of twenty-five cents an hour. If any one had told Mrs. Beaver that her son was "going with that Mahoney girl," she would have been amazed and very possibly indignant. 11 Oscar is a good boy," she used to boast to the neighbors whose sons were not held up as models of thrift and deportment. "He's as steady as an old, married man. Never any beer, never any gambling, never any foolishness with the girls. Every Saturday night he brings his envelope home to me, sealed up just the way he gets it at the window. He wouldn't spend as much as a five-cent piece on himself without ask ing me first. Ever since the old man died he's been just that way, and he's better to the kids than his father ever was. That's the kind of a boy to have!" The neighbor women agreed with Mrs. Beaver to her face, but shook their heads behind her back. "It ain't human nature," Mrs. Slattery used to remark. "A boy's a boy, I say, and you can't make an old man out of him. He's bound to have his fun some time, as sure's you're born, and Oscar ain't going to be a slave to his mother all the days of his life. It ain't human nature." But self-denial, if practiced constantly, in time becomes a habit of mind as well as of body. The reliable Oscar, six years deep in a rut, ac- cepted his lot with all the phlegmatic patience of a beast of burden. The thing had to be done, and that was all there was to it. The men, at the wholesale house where he worked once tried to alter Oscar's views. They took him to task because of his habit of disappearing on Saturday nights with his pay envelope unopened. "It's about time this guy bought a drink, "announced Jerry Gavigan, a teamster, and the bully of the stable gang. "Buy your own drinks," growled Oscar. One word hurried on to another, each one harder than its predecessor. Finally Gavigan crossed the line between wind and war with an epithet calculated to stir the fighting spirit in a Turk. Larry Delaney, stable boss, and ex pert in such matters, described the fight by rounds in two short sentences: "They was only two blows struck. Oscar hit Jerry, and Jerry hit the floor." Gavigan was taken to the hospital with a broken jaw and three loose teeth. Oscar went home to his mother with the seal on his pay envelope unbroken. He explained to her that a packing case fell on his right hand and bruised the knuckles. After that affair Oscar had a certain amount of fighting to do. His swiftly won reputation carried with it an obligation understood by young men of his kind. Just as every Western killer of note became a target for lesser bad men in search of fame, so did Oscar's men in search of fame. It amounted to something to whip the man who had whipped the redoubtable Gavigan, and Oscar met the aspirants as they came, though without enthusiasm. He never moved an inch out of his way to find trouble, but he never retreated an inch when trouble came to find him. Patient, slow to anger, and of very few words, he would wait until it became certain that the only way out led through battle. Then he would lower his head and charge like a bull, his right fist cocked and primed at his side. He seldom had to hit a man more than once. Oscar knew nothing of scientific boxing, and cared less. When he fought his only idea was to have it over as soon as possible, and the ele ment of personal dislike never entered into his conflicts. After some time he came to feel a grim satisfaction in his prowess, for fighting was almost his only recreation. His fame spread over the East Side and reached San Fernando Street and the haunts of the railroad men. It was Miss Kitty Mahoney who gave Oscar the first hint of his growing reputation. It happened at the Switchmen's ball, where he met the young woman. "You ain't the Mr. Beaver that's such an awful fighter, are you?" demanded Miss Mahoney, with an arch smile. Oscar's face turned the color of Flemish sunset. "Aw, I Ve had a few mix-ups, I guess. Nothing much." "I think it's simply terrible for men to fight,'* cooed the young woman, one eye upon Charlie Kitts, who had brought her to the ball. Charlie was hovering in the background, glowering at Oscar, restrained from violence only because of the discretion which is the better part of valor. "Aw, I never go looking for it," muttered the hero uncomfortably. "I never start nothing." "But you wouldn't let anybody run over you?" suggested Miss Mahoney sweetly. "Huh-uh! "said Oscar. That evening Charlie Kitts was treated to a lesson in feminine tactics. Having brought Miss Mahoney to the ball, he had every right to expect a monopoly of her company, instead of which he was forced to stand aside and watch that lively young woman trying all her wiles upon another youth, and that youth a "tough guy" and a fighter. At midnight Charlie took a firm grip on his courage, and shouldered his way to Miss Mahoney's side. She was busily engaged in conversation with Mr. Beaver, who was reply ing in monosyllables. "Come on, kid! "said Kitts abruptly. ' * Let's get outa this." "But I don't want to go home yet," said Miss Mahoney, pouting. "It ain't late, is it?" "Late enough," said Charlie sourly. "You know I got to go to work at five in the morning. Come on!" Miss Mahoney suddenly slipped her hand through the crook of Oscar's elbow, and that young man's whole body stiffened with pleasurable surprise. "You go if you want to," she said calmly. "I'm going to stay. Mr. Beaver '11 see me home. Won't you?" "Sure thing!" said Oscar. "Sure thing!" "Going to make a fool of me, are you?" snarled Kitts. * ' Got a new guy on your staff, eh? Well, all I got to say is" Oscar Beaver stepped forward, but Miss Mahoney clung to his arm. "You boys behave!" she cried shrilly. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Mr. Kitts, to be starting something right here on the floor before everybody?" "Aw," said Oscar, "he won't start nothing." Then to the outraged Kitts: "Beat it!" Charlie beat it. He explained afterward that it was only his respect for the lady which kept him from assaulting Oscar upon the spot. Thus young Mr. Beaver came to regard him self as Miss Mahoney's "steady company." It was his first experience of the sort, and there fore very serious. Kitty Mahoney was not without expert knowledge of young men and their ways with a maid. She had tripped lightly through many affairs; but Oscar Beaver, so strong, and yet so simple — yes, even bashful to the point of timidity — wa? a new type to her. The young men whom she had known were not overtimid. Most of them had attempted to kiss her — too soon — which is to say that they took advantage of the very first opportunity which presented itself. There is in such matters a time limit which should be decently observed, and Miss Mahoney had a stinging rebuke for those who failed to ob serve it. "Quit that, freshie. I ain't that kind of a girl. I don't let a man kiss me until I'm acquainted with him." It seemed to Miss Mahoney a remarkable thing that Oscar Beaver had never presumed to put his arm about her waist, never once tried to kiss her. Remarkable and aggravating. She amused herself by putting him through his paces after the fashion of a performing bear, and it pleased her that the undefeated cham pion of the East Side and the terror of San Fernando Street should hold her in such respectful awe, obeying her lightest whim. She experimented with him after a scientific method all her own. The hint about the pearl brooch came under the head of an experiment. Miss Mahoney, having dropped the seed and called attention to it, waited the outcome with hopefulness. "Hey, kid," said Larry Delaney to Oscar, "want to make fifty bucks!" "Quit your kidding," said Oscar, exploring the contents of his lunch pail. "This is no kid," said Larry. "This is on the level. Do you want to make fifty bucks?" "Well," said Oscar, selecting a corned-beef sandwich, "I guess I could use the change! What's the idea?" "On the ninth of next month," explained Larry, "there's going to be a big benefit performance at the Grand Theater. Some fellow is sick or dead, or something, and his lodge is giving a blow-out to get some coin. Steve Slattery is going to be there." "Slattery, the fighter?" "There ain't but one Steve Slattery, is there? To make it a good drawing card, Steve offers fifty bucks to any man who can last four rounds with him." Oscar looked up, his mouth open. "Me!" he said, tapping his breast with the remains of the sandwich. "Me get up there on the stage with a. regular fighter? Not on your life!" "Why not?" argued Larry. "I never had a glove on in my life." "What difference does that make? You wouldn't be expected to do anything but keep him from knocking you out. If you stick the four rounds you get the dough. That's soft enough, ain't it?" "It is — the way you say it," mumbled Oscar. "Fifty bucks is a lot of money for one night's work, "said Larry. "If I was as husky as you are I'd take a chance." "Uh-huh!" said Oscar. When the one-o'clock whistle blew, Oscar went to work with a germ planted deep in Ms mind. Forty-seven from fifty leaves three. in That night he went walking with Miss Mahoney. 'When a young man has no money in his pockets it is not considered safe to walk in the direction of the bright lights and the ice cream parlors; but Oscar allowed Miss Mahoney to lead him toward Upper Main Street. She paused under the three golden balls. "Why, it's still there!" she exclaimed. "I was afraid somebody might have come along and bought it." "Uh-huh!" said Oscar. "I wonder if it's so awful expensive?" "Forty-seven dollars." Oscar blurted ont the words before he thought. "Oh!" said Miss Mahoney. And she squeezed Oscar's arm. Once more Mr. Solomon had a late caller. "About that pearl thing," said Mr. Beaver. "There ain't much chance for you to sell it before the tenth of next month, is there?" Mr. Solomon elevated his shoulders and wig gled his fingers. "Make me a deposit," he said, "and I put it in the safe until you come after it. Shall I put it away for you?" "M-m-well," said Mr. Beaver slowly, "don't put it away exactly. Just kind of hold onto it for me. Forty-seven bucks, wasn't it?" Mr. Solomon was a student of human nature. Pawnbrokers usually are. Through the shop window he had observed Miss Mahoney earlier in the evening. He regarded the pearl brooch as sold — and for the top price. He could afford to hold it at the figure. Several, days passed. Once more Oscar Beaver and the lady of his affections were taking the evening air, slightly tainted by the proximity of a glue factory. "There's going to be a.fine show at the Grand next Thursday night," said Miss Mahoney. "Everybody I know is going." "Uh-huh!" said Oscar. "Charlie Kitts wants me to go with him." There was an unmistakable accenting of the last word in the sentence. "Is that guy still sticking around! '* asked Oscar. "I want to go the worst way, but I don't want to go with him." Oscar saw that his hand was called. "I'd take you myself," he said, "but I got a date for next Thursday." Miss Mahoney pouted. "If that ain't the meanest thing!" she said. "Aw, what do you want to go see a boxing match for?" demanded Oscar. "It ain't no place for a lady." "But all the girls are going," persisted Miss Mahoney. "There's going to be singing and dancing and a regular vaudeville show. I '11 bet you're going with another girl!" "Quit that stuff!" growled Oscar. 'You know better:" "You said you had a date," said Miss Mahoney. "Well, I have. But it ain't with no girl, take it from me." "And you can't take me?" Oscar shook his head. "Not a chance; I would if I could, but I can't." "You could break that old date if you cared anything about me!" "That's just the reason I can't break it." "Pshaw! I don't believe it!" "Don't, then." "Would you be mad if I went with some one else?" "Not mad at you." "A girl likes to go to a show once in a while. I ain't been to a show since I — since I don't know when." "I wish you wouldn't go to this one." "But why? What's the matter with it?" 1 ' I can't tell you why, but I wish you wouldn't, that's all." "You're just jealous — that's all the matter with you." "Of Kitts? Where do you get that stuff! Forget it!" "You ain't got the right to dictate who I shall go with!" "I ain't trying to. I'm just asking- you not to go next Thursday night." "Suppose I don't go with Charlie Kittsf" "Don't go with anybody. Stay at home." "Huh! That ain't any fun. I haven't been a single place for weeks, and when I've got a chance to go somewhere you kick about it. Don't you think that's selfish?" "Maybe. But I don't want you to go. I'll tell you why afterward." "Tell me now." "I can't." After a conversation of this sort, what more natural than that Miss Mahoney should make up her mind that Oscar's unreasonable request was based upon a dog-in-the-manger policy? His failure to make any explanation fought heavily against him, and there might have been an open rupture had not Miss Kitty remembered, just in the nick of time, that Oscar had taken the trouble to price the pearl brooch. That meant something. It is inadvisable to quarrel with a "gentleman friend" upon the eve of one's birthday, as every young woman knows. Because of this, Oscar Beaver was allowed to go away thinking that he had won his point. In her feminine way, Kitty Mahoney was some thing of a strategist. Steve Slattery sat in his dressing room at the Grand Theater while one of his satellites laced his fighting shoes. Through an open door [2561 THE PEAKL BKOOCH came the braying of vaudeville vocalists, the whang of an orchestra, and the rapid clatter of clog steps. Stage hands stole glances at the star of the evening, for Slattery was a great man — in the provinces. Once he had almost whipped a champion. Steve's manager entered, carrying a pair of boxing gloves. "How 'bout him!" demanded the fighter. "A tapioca," said the manager, whose name was Kahn. *; Something soft. Says he's never been in the ring before. All he's got to wear is a bathing suit and rubber-soled shoes." "You never can tell about these four-round exhibitions," said Steve oracularly. "They're liable to slip over a ringer on you any time." "No chance," said the manager. "This is just one of those rough guys. I've picked most of the padding out of these gloves." ' * Fair enough, "said Slattery. "Now for the bandages. Did you get that tea lead?" A judicious mixture of adhesive tape and tea lead — tin-foil has also been used — put on a fighter's hand by an expert amounts to some thing very like brass knuckles. When, in addition to this, the padding is removed from certain portions of the glove, a blow jars heavily and cuts like a knife. Slattery was taking no chances, even though the management guaranteed the fifty in case it should be required. It was his reputation he was thinking of. He grinned as he watched Kahn's deft fingers at work. "Hey, don't put on too much of that stuff, "said he. "We should worry!" said the manager. "What do you care what happens to this guy?" "I ain't worrying about him," said Steve; "but if you get on too much of that stuff I might break my hands." Slattery occupied the star dressing room. Away down the other end of the corridor, in a five-by-seven coop, Oscar Beaver, considerably more than half naked, and pink with embarrass ment, nervously listened to the advice which Larry Delaney poured into his ears: "Don't get it in your head that you can hurt this fellow, and, whatever.you do, don't mix with him. Clinch as much as you can, and cover up your jaw. Listen to that!" A great roar came from the male portion of the audience. * ' That's Steve, "said Larry, "He's going to punch the bag and a few stunts first. Better get out into the wings now, and, remember, don't look at the crowd. You might get stage fright." Oscar moved along the narrow passageway like a man in a dream. Then for what seemed like a very long time he waited between high canvas walls, listening to the quick, drum ming thud of a punching bag. The sound died away at last, and he heard a voice announcing the "event ojf the evening, a four-round bout be tween Steve Slattery, the pride of the Pacific, coast, and an unknown." "Gr'wan!" hissed Larry in his ear. "Get out there!" Oscar stumbled forward; a bright light shone in his eyes, and a wave of warm air, heavily laden with cheap perfume, almost choked him. He was on the stage for the first time in his life. A young woman in the third row caught her breath sharply, and her escort chuckled nervously. "Why, look who's here!*' he sneered. "I don't wish your friend any bad luck, but he's got an awful nerve going up against a real scrapper." "Can't we get out?" whispered Miss Mahoney. "I want to go home.". "And have everybody laughing at you?" said Mr. Kitts. "I guess not!" "And to think I've been going around with him!" murmured the young woman. "You oughta be more careful of your company," said Kitts. "Remember, I told you" Still in a trance, Oscar was shunted down toward the footlights, and introduced as "The Unknown." There was prolonged cheering, not unmixed with catcalls and howls. Many friends of Oscar's victims were in the house. The excitable Delaney, stripped to undershirt and trousers as is the custom of seconds and advisers, a sponge in one hand, a bucket in the other, and a bath towel draped over his shoul- ders, jerked his head toward the small ring. 1 'Git in your corner!" he said. Oscar found himself sitting on a stool, a rope chafing the back of his neck. Delaney was fumbling with the gloves — great, clumsy affairs, with many layers of padding over the knuckles. Across the way the same office was being per formed for a thick, hairy man who had an un pleasant smile. A third man beckoned from the middle of the ring, and Oscar advanced, obeying a vicious prod from Delaney. "What are they doing now?" quavered Miss Mahoney. "The referee is tellin"em about the rules," said Kitts. But this is what Kahn was saying to Oscar: "Take a brace,~you big stiff! We ain't going to kill you — not in the first round, anyway. And if you lay down Steve will lick you in the dressing room. Understand?" Oscar nodded. Soon afterward a bell rang, and Oscar went forward to meet the thick, hairy man, who, instead of beginning to fight, circled about him with his left hand advanced. Oscar turned, too, as if on a pivot. Suddenly, and without warn ing, something hard and heavy caught him squarely on the bridge of the nose, and drove his head back until it seemed that his neck must snap under the strain. For an instant the pain blinded Oscar, but when his eyes cleared there was the hairy man, dancing in front of him. Oscar shook his head and plunged forward. Again his head snapped back on his shoulders, and he felt a warm flow upon his lips. "That's it, Steve!" said the referee. "Cut him to pieces with your left, and then cross him with the right." Slattery closed in, and began shooting his leaded left with pitiless accuracy. Every jab went straight to the mark, for Oscar did not know enough to cover or clinch, and the professional gave him no time to set himself for the only punch he knew — a right swing. In two minutes the undefeated champion ot the East Side was reeling from one side of the ring to the other, blind, dizzy, choked with blood, and all but helpless. "It's a bum show!" grunted Slattery to the referee. "I'll let him go another round." When the bell rang Oscar started for the wrong cornej, but Delaney sprang after him and towed him back to his own stool. "What's the matter with you?" snarled Larry. "Why don't you clinch? Get those gloves up over your face. He'll murder you if you don't." Oscar mumbled something through thick lips. "Can't hit him!" said Larry. "Nobody thought you could, but that's no reason why you should stand up there like a cigar-store Indian and let him jab the face off you! Duck, you fool! Lay all over him, and clinch. It's your only chance." Oscar's head was still humming when De- laney pushed him into the middle of the ring for the second round, but he remembered enough of Larry's sermon to save him for the first thirty seconds. He staggered to close quarters, and, holding on with one arm, flailed wildly with the other, while Steve grinned and the gallery roared. Then a snapping uppercut drove him backward to the ropes, and once more the professional went to work with his left. Toward the end of the round, when Oscar was rocking and stumbling like a drunken man, Kahn nodded at his fighter. "That's enough, "he said. "Finish him! "Oscar heard the words, and understood. Through a red mist, he saw Slattery steady him self, his right hand poised. When the glove moved Oscar ducked his head, guided only by the blind instinct of self-preservation. The punch, with every ounce of Slattery's strength behind it, caught him two inches above the left ear, and sent him reeling across the ring and against the ropes. Women screamed, and the gallery shouted: "Knock him out, Steve! Stop him, Slattery!" But Slattery stood still in the middle of the ring, his right hand dangling at his side, and a queer, twisted expression upon his ugly face. Obeying a sign from his manager, he advanced and the men were locked in a clinch when the bell rang. "You're all right!" crackled Larry Delaney hysterically. "He can't hurt you with the right hand." "Can't hurt me!" mumbled Oscar. "Feel that lump on my head!" There was a disagreement in Slattery's corner also. "I told you not to put so much of that stuff on my hands," growled Steve. "I busted my hand on that big stiff! It's all your fault, too." 1 'You only think it's broke," said Kahn. "I wish you had it instead of me," said the fighter. "I've busted my hands often enough to know. I copped him right on the top of that thick head of his. Wow — but it hurts!" "You can stop him with your left," urged Kahn. "You don't need your right for a bum like this fellow." "It's easy for you to talk," grumbled Slattery. Oscar's stage fright was wearing away by degrees, and in the third round he actually blocked a few of the cutting lefts which Slattery shot at his battered features, and essayed several giant swings, which, though they missed the mark by a foot or so, made him friends in the gallery. He paid for his temerity with a rapidly clos ing eye and several new cuts. At the end of the round he walked unsteadily to his corner, and the gallery cheered him. "0-o-o-h!" shuddered Miss Mahoney. "I can't bear to look at him! Isn't it horrible?" "Slattery's only fooling with him," said Kitts, hopefully. "He'll never let him last the next round. He can't afford to." The final round opened like a whirlwind. Stung by the taunts of the gallery, Steve rushed in like a preliminary fighter, stabbing, ripping, and uppercutting with his left. Oscar clinched repeatedly, but once Slattery caught him under the chin in the break-away and dropped him to the floor. Kahn began to count rapidly: "One, two, three, four" "No, you don't!" said Oscar thickly, stumbling to his feet. "Have I got to kill you?" panted Slattery. "Why don't you be reasonable and lay down?" "Because you can't make me!" said Oscar. The theater was in an uproar. Men rose in their seats and howled advice. Women covered their faces and peeped through their fingers, squeaking hysterically. Battered, bruised, and loose at the knees, Oscar staggered about the roped inclosure, wide open to every attack. His hands were at his sides, for he was too weak and dazed to lift them. Long before he had ceased to feel the pain of the blows that had rained upon his face. He was conscious only of the impact as the leaded knuckles drove home. "Quit, you fool!" said Kahn. "You'll be murdered!" A slight rocking motion of the head was the only sign that the boy heard and understood. When the bell rang he was hanging upon the ropes, helpless; and Slattery, who had fought himself into utter exhaustion, was pecking away at his face with weak lefts. A third time Mr. Solomon had a late caller — a young man with two black eyes, the right one tightly closed, and variously held together with sticking plaster. So awful was the apparition that language forsook the pawnbroker. "Got that pearl thing?" asked the battered one through puffed lips. "I give you my word," said Mr. Solomon, "I wouldn't have known it was you. What happened?" "Had a fight," mumbled Oscar. "Hurry pp and gimme that thing. I want to go home." He produced two twenty-dollar gold pieces and some silver. Mr. Solomon, exclaiming to himself, hastened to obey. On the night of the tenth of the month Oscar Beaver crossed the small lawn in front of the Mahoney residence. Raw beefsteak and pink courtplaster had done something for him, but not enough to risk the lights of the parlor. What he had to say would be said on the front porch — in the dark — and the fingers of his right hand clutched a small plush box. His foot was on the lower step when he heard voices, and through the open window came the smooth tones of Mr. Charles Kitts: "Of course if I'd ha' known about it in time, I wouldn't have taken you to-the show. I know how you feel about it." "Never mention his name to me again, "said Miss Mahoney. ''The idea of him mixing up with prize fighters, and then having the nerve to come around here! The idea!" "I'd have to want fifty dollars pretty bad to take what he got," said Mr. Kitts. "Did you see his nose?" "Yes," said Miss Mahoney, with a laugh. "Didn't he look too funny for any use?" Oscar Beaver removed his foot from the lower step, and backed slowly away into the darkness. Mr. Solomon, protesting violently that the thing couldn't be done, took the pearl brooch back at thirty dollars. It is now in the window, and Miss Mahoney has often called Mr. Kitts' attention to its singular beauty. So far Mr. Kitts has been able to compromise on a basis of ice cream soda and a trip to the moving-picture show. Oscar Beaver has promised his mother that he will never fight again, and the chances are that he will keep his word.