"I play a fair hand at Bridge, and have an unexceptionable eye for matching worsteds."

"G-r-r!"

"That about sums up my list of accomplishments, but I dare say that I could learn to dig, for I have my full complement of limbs. Finally, a rare and pretty talent for losing money and a penchant for the unlucky side of everything."

"Well, gentlemen," declared the student of medicine, with a snort, "it's quite evident that we're all playing the fool together. I wish you a very good-evening, and the devil take all crawfishers." And with that he marched off, evidently in high dudgeon. A little ripple of laughter swept over the upturned faces of the crowd. "One dollar,"

repeated the young man, his voice full of a polite weariness. "Do I hear no other bid? I offer myself, a human chattel, at absolute sale; no reservations; warranted sound and kind; no objection to the country; not afraid of the Elevated railway."

"Five dollars," said a voice at the rear, and a short, stout man, with little, black, beadlike eyes, held up his hand to identify his bid.

"Joe Bardi," said a man to his neighbor. Both turned interestedly.

"And who is Joe Bardi?" inquired Indiman, blandly.

"Business of shipping sailors. There's big money in it, they say."

"Ah, yes, a crimp--isn't that what they call them?"

"Right you are, mister. A hard one, too. It'll be a sharp man that does for old Joe Bardi."

"Five dollars," came again from the squat figure with its ratlike eyes, and the young man in evening dress paled a little. He had over-heard the colloquy between Indiman and the native Abingdonian, and it is difficult to regard with equanimity the prospect of a trip before the mast--to China, let us say. In an American ship, too, more shame to us that it must be said.

But the young man was thoroughbred. He had sat down to play a desperate game with Fortune, and he could not withdraw with the cards on the table.

"Five dollars," he repeated, mechanically. "Five dollars. What am I offered? Five dollars."

"Want me to buy you dat, Mame?" said a half-grown boy of the unmistakable tough type. "Whatjer soy? Five cases for dat mug! And Tuesday ain't bargain-day, nuther."

"Well, it looks like thirty cents," said Mame, critically. "In Chinese money, too--thirty yen-yen. What you say, John?" The crowd laughed again.

"Five dollars."

"Five dollars," repeated the young man, and there were little drops of sweat on the broad, fair forehead. "Five dollars, five dollars. Do I hear no other bid? Five dollars--going--going--"

"Six."

It was Indiman who spoke, and this time the crowd gaped in good earnest. An indescribable emotion possessed for an instant the face of the young man in evening clothes. Then he fell back upon his first manner, half-petulant, half-mocking. "Six dollars I am bid," he announced, briskly, and looked straight at the shipping agent.

Joe Bardi hesitated. "And a half," he said, tentatively, as an angler who feels the mouth of the fish that he fears may be insecurely hooked.

Indiman capped the bid promptly. "Seven dollars," he said.

The crimp scowled. "Make it eight," he retorted.

"Ten."

The Italian hesitated again. This had the appearance of a contest, and he was not of the sort who love a fight for its own sake. But his cupidity had been powerfully aroused. There was a pretty profit in advance money to be made if he could get this young fool's signature on the ship's papers of the Southern Cross, outward bound for Shanghai, on the morrow. He must make at least another try. It might be that the intrusive stranger from the silk-stocking district was only amusing himself and would presently withdraw.

"Twelve," he said, and "fifteen," answered Indiman.

The crowd laughed, and Joe Bardi's vanity was sorely touched. It was not pleasant to be badgered in this unseemly manner while engaged in beating one's own preserves. Discretion forsook him forthwith.

"Twenty-five," he bellowed.

"Fifty."

"A hundred, and be d.a.m.ned to you!"

"Two hundred."

There was a pause; the crowd held its breath in silent and joyous expectancy. Joe Bardi pa.s.sed a hand over his wet forehead and pulled irresolutely upon his cigar. A severe-looking old man expressed his entire disapproval of the proceedings. "It's against the Const.i.tution,"

he said, loudly. "How about the Fourteenth Amendment? Well, the number doesn't matter anyway. Officer, I call upon you to stop this unlawful and outrageous farce. A human being selling himself on the auction block! The slave-market set up again in this Christian city of New York! It's a crime against the Const.i.tution."

But the policeman was a prudent person, and as yet he had seen no cause to interfere. The proceedings were unusual, no doubt, and they might be against the Const.i.tution; he wouldn't like to say. It was none of his business anyway; HE went by the code.

"Bah!" snorted the old gentleman, and rushed away to find a city magistrate.

"Two hundred dollars," repeated the young man in evening clothes. "Two hundred dollars. What am I bid? Going, going--"

The shipping agent made a hasty mental calculation--there was no profit in the transaction at anything over his last bid of an even hundred.

But he was tempted to go a little further and run up the price on his adversary, thus punishing him for interfering in a man's private business. Very good, but suppose the stranger suddenly refused to follow the lead; then it would be Joe Bardi himself who would be mulcted. Revenge would be sweet, but it was too dangerous; he would stop where he was.

"Two hundred, two hundred--going, going--" The crowd began to banter the crimp.

"Lift her again, Joe," called out one voice. "Open up that barrel of plunks you've got stored away in your cellar," exhorted another counsellor. "A nice, white slave--that's what you're needing in your business," advised a third. But Joe Bardi kept his eyes on the ground and said nothing.

"Gone," said the young man in evening clothes.

Indiman took four fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to the young man. The latter glanced at the notes and stuffed them carelessly into his waistcoat-pocket. Then, turning to Indiman:

"Sir," he said, with a profound seriousness, "I am now your property.

Ah! Pardon me--"

Like a cat he had sprung between Indiman and the crimp. With a dexterous upward fling of his arm the knife in the Italian's hand went spinning into the air. This was something that came within the policeman's accustomed sphere, and he took immediate charge of Mr. Joe Bardi. It was all done in a most methodical manner, and ten minutes later we were free to depart. A "cruiser" cab rattled by and the three of us squeezed in.

"To the Utinam Club," ordered Indiman.

Seated at a table in the big dining-room of the club, we drank a formal c.o.c.ktail to our better acquaintance.

"But I am afraid that you have made a bad bargain," said the young man to Indiman.

"Frankly, now, I doubt if I can be made to pay even three per cent on the investment. That's no better than a government bond and not half so safe."

I have already collected one satisfactory dividend," said Indiman, courteously. "That was cleverly done--to force the knife out of his hand and into the air."

"It's a part of the j.a.panese science of defence without weapons," said the youth, blushing ingenuously. "Jiu-jitsu, you know. I took some lessons of a chap in Tokio."

"Moreover, there is your story," continued Indiman. "Will you favor me with some particulars regarding yourself and the circ.u.mstances leading up to our late meeting? The situation was an unusual one, and the explanation should be interesting."

"On the contrary," answered the young man, with a faint smile, "my narrative is of the most commonplace character imaginable, save only for the final chapter. But judge for yourself.