I, when the Autolycan adventurer seemed to have
divulged the gist of his tale, "I hope you took care of the money.
That would be a respecta--that is a considerable working capital if
you should choose some day to settle down to some sort of regular
business."

"Me?" said Jeff, virtuously. "You can bet I've taken care of that five
thousand."

He tapped his coat over the region of his chest exultantly.

"Gold mining stock," he explained, "every cent of it. Shares par value
one dollar. Bound to go up 500 per cent. within a year. Non-assessable.
The Blue Gopher mine. Just discovered a month ago. Better get in
yourself if you've any spare dollars on hand."

"Sometimes," said I, "these mines are not--"

"Oh, this one's solid as an old goose," said Jeff. "Fifty thousand
dollars' worth of ore in sight, and 10 per cent. monthly earnings
guaranteed."

He drew out a long envelope from his pocket and cast it on the table.

"Always carry it with me," said he. "So the burglar can't corrupt or
the capitalist break in and water it."

I looked at the beautifully engraved certificate of stock.

"In Colorado, I see," said I. "And, by the way, Jeff, what was the
name of the little man who went to Denver--the one you and Bill met at
the station?"

"Alfred E. Ricks," said Jeff, "was the toad's designation."

"I see," said I, "the president of this mining company signs himself
A. L. Fredericks. I was wondering--"

"Let me see that stock," said Jeff quickly, almost snatching it from
me.

To mitigate, even though slightly, the embarrassment I summoned the
waiter and ordered another bottle of the Barbera. I thought it was the
least I could do.

A TEMPERED WIND

The first time my optical nerves was disturbed by the sight of
Buckingham Skinner was in Kansas City. I was standing on a corner when
I see Buck stick his straw-colored head out of a third-story window of
a business block and holler, "Whoa, there! Whoa!" like you would in
endeavoring to assuage a team of runaway mules.

I looked around; but all the animals I see in sight is a policeman,
having his shoes shined, and a couple of delivery wagons hitched to
posts. Then in a minute downstairs tumbles this Buckingham Skinner,
and runs to the corner, and stands and gazes down the other street at
the imaginary dust kicked up by the fabulous hoofs of the fictitious
team of chimerical quadrupeds. And then B. Skinner goes back up to the
third-story room again, and I see