he reason for the purchase, and the foolishly high price they
were offering, in such a way as to mislead Croyden.

"Yes,--aloud! I want to hear someone else read it."

Macloud looked at him, curiously.

"It is typewritten, you haven't a chance to get wrong!" he said,
wonderingly.

Croyden laughed!

"Read it, please!" he exclaimed.... "So, I wasn't crazy: and either
Blaxham is lying or his customer needs a guardian--which is it?"

"I don't see that it need concern you, in the least, which it is," said
Macloud. "Be grateful for the offer--and accept by wireless or any
other way that's quicker."

"But the bonds aren't worth five cents on the dollar!"

"So much the more reason to hustle the deal through. Sell them! man,
sell them! You may have slipped up on the Parmenter treasure, but you
have struck it here."

"Too rich," Croyden answered. "There's something queer about that
letter."

Macloud smoked his cigar, and smiled.

"There's nothing queer about the letter!"--he said. "Blaxham's customer
may have the willies--indeed, he as much as intimates that such is the
case--but, thank God! we're not obliged to have a commission-in-lunacy
appointed on everybody who makes a silly stock or bond purchase. If we
were, we either would have no markets, or the courts would have time
for nothing else. No! no! old man! take what the gods have given you
and be glad. There's ten thousand a year in it! You can return to
Northumberland, resume the old life, and be happy ever after;--or you
can live here, and there, and everywhere. You're unattached--not even a
light-o'-love to squander your money, and pester you for gowns and
hats, and get in a hell of a temper--and be false to you, besides."

"No, I haven't one of them, thank God!" laughed Croyden. "I've got
troubles enough of my own. The present, for instance."

"Troubles!" marvelled Macloud. "You haven't any troubles, now. This
clears them all away."

"It clears some of them away--if I take it."

"Thunder! man, you're not thinking, seriously, of refusing?"

"It will put me on 'easy street,'" Croyden observed.

"So, why hesitate an instant?"

"And it comes with remarkable timeliness--so timely, indeed, as to be
suspicious."

"Suspicious? Why suspicious? It's a bona fide offer."

"It's a bona fide offer--there's no trouble on that score."

"Then, what is the trouble?"

"This," said Croyden: "I'm broke--finally. The Parmenter treasure is
moonshine, so far as I'm