appearance, and 'plant' her as a 'front'--a 'come-on'--for the
suckers' money."

The bewildered receiver had let the craft of conversation drift into
strange waters. Was he dealing with a moron or a maniac? Except that
this was the only bid he had ever had--the only prospect in sight--for
a deal that would open a bank, he would take the phone, cancel the
call and dismiss the conference. In desperation he would make another
try.

"Well, I don't know what you are talking about, but I do know this
Maizie woman. If these places you speak of call for a stubborn
hellion, then you've got the right party. But I would like to know
just where she could be made into a useful thing?"

"I wasn't thinking of her temperament," said Davy as he folded up his
memorandum. "She's described as the gypsy type. Such a type is
valuable when properly placed. Were you ever at Coney Island?" he
asked abruptly. "No? Well, it's a resort, a playground, down New York
way. Henry Hudson landed here, and many another Dutchman has been
'landed' and made regrettable discoveries right on this same spot. It
has a bathing beach where the gals show what they've got and fat men
flounder and cavort far beyond their capacities. Up from the beach is
the midway proper--a carnival or street fair, with bandstands and
dance platforms, peep shows, free shows, and legits. At the proper
season these places are alive with spenders. They bring in carloads of
money and take away nothing more tangible than experience. Why, Mister
Logan, a man of your talents could spend profitable days at Coney
Island in the study of financial circulation, could write a book,
entitled 'The Slippery Dollar; Its Origin, Its Travels, Its
Destination'! Some of these dollars have origin in work and sweat and
some stem from blood and tears, but all--"

"And just where in this mess would this Maizie woman belong?"
interrupted Logan desperately. "Your recital is interesting, but it
doesn't get to the point. Where and why would you place her?"

"Why, I'd place her as a 'front' down at the fortune-teller's booth,"
replied Davy quickly. "I'd either buy out--or buy in--with Tony Garci,
who has a concession, and plant Maizie right at the tent-flap as a
'come-on.' Her name would have to be Madame Tousan, or Princess
Caraza, or some such, and she would have to dress the part. Black and
red, maybe, with plastered hair and a coppery skin. A quart of rings
and bracelets on each hand and arm, horsesho