h the local Mark Antony!"

"Mebbe," admitted Mr. Files, his fishy gaze revealing that he had no
personal knowledge of the parties mentioned. "It's the old story, all
right. Widdereritis, and a bad run of it."

The bagman had a scarfpin in the shape of a horse shoe. His comment was
in line with his taste in adornment. "Files, old scout, if a colt is put
to harness so early that he can't get his natural fling in the fields,
he'll have it at the other end of his life, when he's let run to
pasture, spavin or no spavin. Why don't Egypt hold off and let Uncle
What's-his-name enjoy his new hair and hopes?"

"He has known how to collect in the money that's due him," stated
Mr. Files, "compound interest and all! He was only getting back his
investments. But he has never put out any of the kind of capital that
earns liking or respect or love. He has woke up to what he has been
missing. He's trying to collect what he has never invested. And he can't
do it, mister! No, sir, he can't!"

The drummer was a young man. He asked a natural question. "Isn't the
girl willing to be an old man's darling?"

"You might go over to Britt's bank and ask her," suggested Mr. Files,
crisply. "She's bookkeeper there. But you'd better not let that young
fellow that's cashier overhear you."

"So that's it? Say, events in Egypt in the near future may make some of
the mummies here sit up and take notice!"

"Shouldn't wonder a mite," agreed Mr. Files, beginning to gather up the
dishes.

CHAPTER II

FIRST COLLECTIONS

That morning Mr. Britt did not dawdle in the hotel office with his
cigar. He knew perfectly well that he merely had been making a pretense
of enjoying that sybaritism, putting on his new clubman airs along with
his dye and his toupee.

Among other curios in the office was a dusty, stuffed alligator, hanging
from the ceiling over the desk. The jaws were widely agape and Mr.
Britt always felt an inclination to yawn when he looked alligatorward.
Therefore, the alligator offended Mr. Britt by suggesting drowsiness
in the morning; Mr. Britt, up early, and strictly after any worm that
showed itself along the financial path, resented the feeling of daytime
sleepiness as heresy. Furthermore, that morning the gaping alligator
also suggested the countenance of the open-mouthed Files whom Britt
had just left in the dining room, and Files had been irritating. Britt
scowled at the alligator, lighted a cigar, and hustled outdoors; he had