him shiver.
"That man's an anarchist," he decided, but the explanation came immediately.
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger, "but have you finished with that newspaper in your pocket?"
"Oh, quite," responded Stranleigh, "and you are very welcome to it."
"I only want a glance at the news. I'll give it back to you in a minute."
"I take only a glance at the news myself," replied Stranleigh, "so I don't wish it returned if you will be good enough to accept it."
"You are very kind. The truth is I can't afford to buy a paper in this town. I can get better dailies where I come from, for a cent, and here they charge four to six times that much."
Stranleigh sat down beside him on the bench. They were in the Parkstrasse, with many passers-by going up to the afternoon concert at the Kurhaus. The person who couldn't afford a newspaper showed great familiarity with the one presented to him. He scanned its columns with lightning rapidity, then folded it up, and handed it back. For a moment it seemed to Stranleigh that his threadbare acquaintance was already aware of the journal's contents, and had made his request merely as an opening for conversation.
"I am not well enough dressed," he demurred, when Stranleigh proposed they should go to the concert together, "to mix with you swells on the terrace, and though I understand the music is good, I don't care much for music."
"I'm no swell," said the younger man with a laugh, "and I've just invited you to come there with me."
"No swell!" cried the other. "Why, I heard a person who spoke English say, as he pointed you out, that you were Lord Stranleigh, and he added you were the richest man in Europe."
"Oh! I don't know about the richest, but my name happens to be Stranleigh."
"I didn't believe about the richest myself. If a man has a little money, people always call him a millionaire, and generally he isn't. But their calling you a lord interested me. I'd never seen a real live lord. I thought they didn't speak to ordinary folks."
"My fault," confessed Stranleigh, "lies rather in the opposite direction. I'm so anxious to talk to people, that I sometimes find a difficulty in getting them to talk to me."
"Well, I resolved to make a move toward you, and then when I got back home I'd tell them that I'd talked with a genuine lord."
"Where is 'back home'?" asked Stranleigh.
"I guess I'd better introduce myself, as one good turn deserves another. My name's J. W. Garner. I'm clerk in a railway freight house, in Beloit, Wisconsin."
"Is that a remunerative occupation?"
"I can't say that it is, although I live fairly comfortable, and make enough money to come over here without asking anybody's help, and take the treatment without going on the pauper list. Still, it isn't in a freight house that big money is made in the railway business. Some chap on Wall Street, that never saw the railroad, will make more money on it in ten minutes than we clerks can in forty years."
"Yes; or lose it," said Stranleigh.
"Certainly, he runs that risk, but those chaps on the inside don't lose anything. E. L. Bannerdale, for instance."
"Curiously enough," replied Stranleigh, "I was just thinking of him. A great deal depends on the point of view in this world, and it occurred to me how much more lucky you were than Bannerdale."
"Pshaw!" cried Garner, impatiently, "Bannerdale must be worth sixty million, if he's worth a cent."
"I daresay, but look at the unhappy man's position at the present moment. He has taken a house in Vienna that occupies a city square, and to keep away the reporters, has garrisoned it as if it were a fortress. Everyone knows he is stricken with a dangerous disease, and has come to Vienna for treatment, and we all are aware that a man in his condition needs quiet and rest; yet quiet is the one thing he can't buy. Stocks fluctuate up and down according to the rumours coming from that house of death, as it probably is, for he has been reported dead several times, and reported convalescent, and reported incurable: nobody really knows what his condition is except his physician. But to torture a very sick man in this way seems to me abominable."
J. W. Garner shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"They've got to have the news," he said, "and anyhow I guess there ain't much sympathy for old Bannerdale in the States. He looted too many people when he was well, and I expect there's a feeling of relief now that he's deadly ill. After all, I don't believe his death will make very much difference. He's sure to have things fixed up so that if he pegs out, affairs will go on pretty much as usual. He's an important man, I admit, but he's only one of a group, and the group won't let things go to smash."
"Why," said Stranleigh, "the very paper I handed to you just now says that his most intimate friends have turned traitors, and believing he cannot recover are buying, or selling, or doing something they shouldn't do."
Garner laughed harshly.
"Then God pity them," he said, "if old Bannerdale gets well!"
"Doesn't the career of a man like Bannerdale create dissatisfaction and arouse envy among the less fortunate of his fellow citizens?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess not much. I never felt envious of anybody, because I knew if I got a chance I'd do the same thing."
"You never had the chance, then?"
"Oh, I have had thousands of chances. In one way or other I secured information that would have made my fortune had I possessed the money to buy at the proper time; that would have made dozens of fortunes with one rich man to back me."
"Did you ever try persuading the rich man?"
"Lord bless you! yes, but the difficulty is to get the start. Nobody will listen unless you've put through a deal that's been successful. You see, everybody's singing the same song. You can't meet a man who won't agree to make you rich if you'll just grub-stake him with a few thousand dollars."
"Have you given up hope of finding your rich man?"
"No; I'm at it just now. That's why I scraped acquaintance with you."
"All right, Mr. Garner. You've got me persuaded, so here's your chance at last, with a man who doesn't care a rap whether he wins or loses."
"Well, sir, that's the kind of man I'd like to do business with. I should hate to lose money for anybody, just as I'd hate to lose it myself, if I had some. Now, what I wanted that paper of yours for was to see whether the stock of the Great South-Western Short Line had gone up or not. Instead of going up, it's dropped down. If I had money, I'd put every cent of it in that road."
"Do you mind telling me why?"
"Oh, you want to back out!"
"I never back out. I'll give you the money now, if you're in doubt. How much do you need? A hundred pounds, or a thousand?"
"Well, I guess I don't want any money at all, but I'd like you to take as much stock as you care to handle, and just hold it for a week or two. If my tip isn't any good,
