essed the young fellow
who lounged behind it.

"Two pounds of the best butter, please."

"All out," was the unexpected reply.

"All out!" I repeated, stupidly.

"None of the best--that's what I said."

"I wanted a purple trading-stamp," I went on, helplessly.

"Anything over five cents' worth--jar of pickles, if you like."

"No, not that. Here, give me--how much are those cigars?"

"Five and ten."

"Ten cents, then."

The young man handed out the box with a nonchalant air. "Help
yourself," he said.

I selected a cigar. "You're sure you haven't any butter--the BEST
butter?"

"Ah, now, whadjer giving us? This ain't no Tiffany & Co. Best butter?
Uh! P'r'aps you'd like to take a peck of di'monds home wid jer--the
best di'monds, mind, all ready shelled and fried in gold-dust. And just
throw in a bunch of them German-silver banglelets for the salad.
Yessir; charge 'em to Mr. Astor, Astorville, N. G."

The loungers about the stove sniggered audibly, but something in the
fellow's voice made me forget his insolence. I looked up and into the
eyes of Esper Indiman.

I think I did it pretty well--the cool, ignoring stare with which one
is accustomed to put a boor out of countenance.

"Let me have a light," I went on, quietly, and the pretended grocer's
boy was zealous to oblige, scratching the match himself and leaning
across the counter to hold the flame to the cigar end.

"Coach waiting for you in front of the church," he whispered. "Drive
straight home and slowly--to give him a chance."

I left the shop without troubling to glance at the loungers about the
fire; Indiman would attend to that part of the business. The coach was
in waiting at the Baptist Church, and the driver touched his hat when I
mentioned my name. I gave him the address, and told him to drive
slowly. As we turned into Seventh Avenue I looked back and saw a cab
following.

An hour later Indiman came in and joined me in the library. "Now,
then!" I said, impatiently, after waiting to see him mix a high-ball
and light a tremendously black breva. Indiman is a little provoking at
times with his infinite deliberation.

"Where were we?" he began. "Ah, yes, I had my theory about finding the
chap who wrote out that message. It was correct--absolutely so," and
Indiman puffed away in dreamy content, staring up at the ceiling.

"I know Mason of the main Western Union office quite well, and he was
most obliging. Recognized the peculiarity of the te