Etienne stared without understanding these big words. But he had often
told himself that he never expected to understand Yankee speech very
well. He worked alone; he lived alone in his garret in the tenement
block; he talked but little with any person. But this young man with
the wonderful smile seemed to inspire him to talk--even to the extent of
revealing his secrets.

He lowered his voice. "Thirty year I have work here. I live way up in
the little room. Bread I eat with lard on it. It costs little. Of the
six dollaire I save much. Ah, _oui_! Hist! Not for me I save it. Ah,
_non_! To the priest I give it. To the good priest. And the poor childs
what are sick--he send 'em to the farm--to have some outdoors. But I
don't sleep the night because I think the dollaire come so slow--and so
many poor childs are sick."

He picked up his rake and pike and went back to his labor.

The man under the tree did not lose his smile.

"Yonder is a brand of altruism that cannot be hypnotized or modified
like Knight Chick's, I fear," he muttered. "You'd have to hit it on the
head--kill it with sticks! And my definition of philanthropy has always
been, 'giving away something you don't want in order to get yourself
advertised.' Etienne is interesting. He is the only philanthropist I
have even found who will eat lard instead of butter so as to save more
for his philanthropy." Now his smile grew hard. "Don't dare to open your
eyes, Altruism," he commanded. "I saw the lids quiver a minute ago while
that old man was talking, but remember you're hypnotized."

He saw the rack-tender lay down his pike so as to give both hands to his