day, with the King's permission, I has the McClintock
open up a couple of sacks of my goods in the little plaza of the
village. The Indians swarmed around by the hundred and looked the
bargain-counter over. I shook red blankets at 'em, flashed finger-rings
and ear-bobs, tried pearl necklaces and side-combs on the women, and a
line of red hosiery on the men. 'Twas no use. They looked on like hungry
graven images, but I never made a sale. I asked McClintock what was the
trouble. Mac yawned three or four times, rolled a cigarette, made one or
two confidential side remarks to a mule, and then condescended to inform
me that the people had no money.

"Just then up strolls King Patrick, big and red 'and royal as usual,
with the gold chain over his chest and his cigar in front of him.

"'How's business, W. D.?' he asks.

"'Fine,' says I. 'It's a bargain-day rush. I've got one more line of
goods to offer before I shut up shop. I'll try 'em with safety-razors.
I've got two gross that I bought at a fire sale.'

"Shane laughs till some kind of mameluke or private secretary he carries
with him has to hold him up.

"'O my sainted Aunt Jerusha!' says he, 'ain't you one of the Babes in
the Goods, W. D.? Don't you know that no Indians ever shave? They pull
out their whiskers instead.'

"'Well,' says I, 'that's just what these razors would do for 'em--they
wouldn't have any kick coming if they used 'em once.'

"Shane went away, and I could hear him laughing a block, if there had
been any block.

"'Tell 'em,' says I to McClintock, 'it ain't money I want--tell 'em I'll
take gold-dust. Tell 'em I'll allow 'em sixteen dollars an ounce for it
in trade. That's what I'm out for--the dust.'

"Mac interprets, and you'd have thought a squadron of cops had charged
the crowd to disperse it. Every uncle's nephew and aunt's niece of 'em
faded away inside of two minutes.

"At the royal palace that night me and the King talked it over.

"'They've got the dust hid out somewhere,' says I, 'or they wouldn't
have been so sensitive about it.'

"'They haven't,' says Shane. 'What's this gag you've got about gold?
You been reading Edward Allen Poe? They ain't got any gold.'

"'They put it in quills,' says I, 'and then they empty it in jars, and
then into sacks of twenty-five pounds each. I got it straight.'

"'W. D.,' says Shane, laughing and chewing his cigar, 'I don't often see
a white man, and I feel like putting you on. I don't think you'll