at,
drink and be leary.'

"The full moon was coming up bright, so we sat on the floor of the
cabin and ate in the light of it. And this Bill Bassett begins to
brag.

"'Sometimes,' says he, with his mouth full of country produce, 'I
lose all patience with you people that think you are higher up in
the profession than I am. Now, what could either of you have done in
the present emergency to set us on our feet again? Could you do it,
Ricksy?'

"'I must confess, Mr. Bassett,' says Ricks, speaking nearly inaudible
out of a slice of pie, 'that at this immediate juncture I could
not, perhaps, promote an enterprise to relieve the situation. Large
operations, such as I direct, naturally require careful preparation in
advance. I--'

"'I know, Ricksy,' breaks in Bill Bassett. 'You needn't finish. You
need $500 to make the first payment on a blond typewriter, and four
roomsful of quartered oak furniture. And you need $500 more for
advertising contracts. And you need two weeks' time for the fish to
begin to bite. Your line of relief would be about as useful in an
emergency as advocating municipal ownership to cure a man suffocated
by eighty-cent gas. And your graft ain't much swifter, Brother
Peters,' he winds up.

"'Oh,' says I, 'I haven't seen you turn anything into gold with your
wand yet, Mr. Good Fairy. 'Most anybody could rub the magic ring for
a little left-over victuals.'

"'That was only getting the pumpkin ready,' says Bassett, braggy
and cheerful. 'The coach and six'll drive up to the door before you
know it, Miss Cinderella. Maybe you've got some scheme under your
sleeve-holders that will give us a start.'

"'Son,' says I, 'I'm fifteen years older than you are, and young
enough yet to take out an endowment policy. I've been broke before. We
can see the lights of that town not half a mile away. I learned under
Montague Silver, the greatest street man that ever spoke from a wagon.
There are hundreds of men walking those streets this moment with
grease spots on their clothes. Give me a gasoline lamp, a dry-goods
box, and a two-dollar bar of white castile soap, cut into little--'

"'Where's your two dollars?' snickered Bill Bassett into my discourse.
There was no use arguing with that burglar.

"'No,' he goes on; 'you're both babes-in-the-wood. Finance has closed
the mahogany desk, and trade has put the shutters up. Both of you look
to labor to start the wheels going. All right. You admit it. To-night
I'll show