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 blood to Don's face. "Well, I'm dd! How did I come to tell y' about it! Well, I'm dd!" He showed tobacco-stained teeth in a wrinkled smile. "I tell yuh what I'll do: I'll take y' over to his joint an' give y' a knock-down to him, eh?"

Don's shame passed in a gratitude that swelled in his throat speechlessly. He heard the man say "over on Twelf Street, near Sixt' Avenuh." They rose together.

The stranger was short and sturdy, with a leg that bowed out behind him, at the calf, like the blade of a sickle; and he walked on his heels, his hands in his trousers' pockets, his hat slanted down on his puckered eyes. He talked breezily. Don went in silence, tall beside him, his immature shoulders sloping from his thin neck, his head erect, vacantly smiling. The noises of the street beat around him unheard. A myriad of woman-shoppers rushed back and forth below him. His starved hopes were gorging themselves in a blind greediness that saw nothing but their food.

The man was saying: "Well, it's a great place, ain't it? Get yer start here an' rise to any thin'—anythin'! Get yer start, that's all! It's worth anythin' to get yer start. It's a reg'lar gold-mine, once yuh get yer pick into it." He looked at Don, as if suspicious of his silence. Don appeared to be wistfully studying the faces of the women as they passed. "Girls too," he laughed. "Good-lookers at that! Get yer money an' take yer choice. An' they dress to do yuh proud. Get yer start, that's all. . . . Got any recommends? Eh? Any letters from yer las' job?"