"Have you never been out to St. Cloud? No? I
never go there without feeling a terrible pity for those poor
prodigals who stood beside its funeral pyre and saw their folly
stripped down to the starkest of skeletons while they waited. The day
of glory is short, Mr. Schmidt, and the night that follows is
bitterly long. They say possession is nine points of the law, but
what do nine points mean to the lawless? The rich man of to-day may
be the beggar of to-morrow, and the rich man's sons and daughters may
be serving the beggars of yesterday. I have been told that in the
lower east side of New York City there are men and women who were
once princes and princesses, counts and countesses, dukes and
duchesses. Why doesn't some one write a novel about the royalty that
hides its beggary in the slums of that great city?"
"What's this? Epigrams and philosophy, Miss Guile?" he exclaimed
wonderingly. "You amaze me. What are you trying to convey? That some
day you may be serving yesterday's beggar?"
"Who knows!" she said cryptically.
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