nder is proud to serve the only Corkey, the most famous man on
the whole "Levee." While the bartender burns incense, the square mouth
grows scornful, laconic, boastful. Corkey is himself again. The
barkeeper goes to the oil-room for a small bottle.

The handsome eyes of the navigator rest on his protege. The head sets
up a vibration something like the movement of a rattlesnake before it
strikes. The little tongue plays about the black tobacco. The speech
comes forth.

"It's a great act I play on the widow about the 'last words'. He
didn't say nothing of the kind. I come near putting my foot right into
it."

"Yessah!"

Corkey's right hand is in his side pocket. He ruminates. He feels an
unfamiliar thing in his pocket. He draws out a dainty white-and-black
handkerchief. There is a painful reaction in his mind.

"I'll burn that female wipe right now!" he says.

"Yessah."

The stove is for soft coal and stands open. Corkey advances to toss
the handkerchief in the fire.

His eyes meet the crooked and quizzical orbs of the mascot.

"You mourning-colored moke!"

There is a huge threat in the deliverance.

The hook-like finger tears the black tobacco out of the choking mouth.
The great quid is thrown in the fire. The proposed motion is made, and
the handkerchief is not burned. Down it goes in the hip pocket beside
Corkey's revolver, out of harm's way.

Corkey started to throw something in the fire, and has kept to his
purpose.

"Yessah!" says the mascot, sagaciously.

"Bet your black life!" vows Corkey, as if great things hung by it.

He looks with renewed affection on his protege. "I git you into the
league nine, sure, Noey!"

"Yessah!"

It is plain that the mascot will preserve an admirable reticence.

CHAPTER III

THE CENOTAPH

"TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--This sum of money will be paid for the
recovery of the body of the Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay
the morning of Oct. 17. When last seen the body was afloat in the yawl
of the propeller Africa, off Cape Croker. For full particulars and
suggestions, address H. M. H. Wandrell, Chicago, Ill."

This advertisement may be seen everywhere. It increases the public
excitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is a
ferment of the whole body politic.

Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their account
the famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it.
To a vast gathe