Heilig shook off his stupor after a few minutes. ``No matter,''
he said. ``What's past is past.''

He went straightway over to Second Avenue to the shop of
Geishener, the largest delicatessen dealer in New York.

``I've been burned out,'' he explained. ``I must get something
to do.''

Geishener offered him a place at eleven dollars a week. ``I'll
begin in the morning,'' said Otto. Then he went to Paul Brauner.

``When will you open up again?'' asked Brauner.

``Not for a long time, several years. Everything's gone and I've
taken a place with Geishener. I came to say that--that I can't
marry your daughter.''

Brauner did not know what answer to make. He liked Otto and had
confidence in him. But the masses of the people build their
little fortunes as coral insects build their islands. And Hilda
was getting along--why, she would be twenty in four months. ``I
don't know. I don't know.'' Brauner rubbed his head in
embarrassment and perplexity. ``It's bad--very bad. And
everything was running so smoothly.''

Hilda came in. Both men looked at her guiltily. ``What is it?''
she asked. And if they had not been mere men they would have
noticed a change in her face, a great change, very wonderful and