rely eaten at the City Hotel."
But I doubt if he heard, for he lovingly inhaled the aroma of his coffee
with half-shut eyes.

"I am delighted to have met you," he said. "If ever you come to New
York--" He tore himself from the omelette long enough to scribble the
name of a club on the card by my plate.

"I rarely crave more than coffee and a roll in the morning," he
continued, after the second omelette, the ham, the waffles, and more
coffee had been consumed. "I fancy it's your bracing air."

I fancied it was only the City Hotel, but I did not revert to that.

When at last Mr. Price lighted a cigar which I had procured at an
immense distance from Slocum County, he spoke of furniture, also of
Cohen.

Beheld through the romantic mist of after-breakfast, Cohen was, perhaps,
not wholly a shark; at least not more than any dealer in old furniture.
Really, they were almost forced to be sharks. It was not in the nature
of the business that they should lead honest lives. Mere collectors--of
which class my guest was--were bad enough. Still, if you could catch a
collector in one of his human moments--

He blew forth the smoke of my cigar with a relish so poignant that I
suspected he had already tried one of Jake Kilburn's best, the kind
concerning which Jake feels it considerate to warn purchasers that they
are "five cents, straight" and _not_ six for a quarter. I saw that if
the collector before me were subject to human moments, he must be
suffering one now. So, while he smoked, I told him freely of Miss
Caroline, of her furniture and her plight.

He commended the tale.

"One of the best I ever heard," he declared. "Only, if you'll pardon me,
it sounds too good to be true. It sounds, indeed, like a 'plant,'--fine
old Southern family, impoverished by war--faithful body-servant--old
Colonial mansion despoiled of its heirlooms--rare opportunities for the
collector. Really, Major, you should see some of the stuff that was
landed on me when I began, years ago, with a story almost as good.
Reproductions, every piece of it, with as fine an imitation of
worm-eaten backs as you could ever wish to see."

I had never wished to see any worm-eaten backs whatever, but I sought to
betray regret that I had not encountered this surpassing lot of them.

"Of course," he continued, "you will understand that I am speaking now
as a hardened collector, whose life is beset with pitfalls and with
gins--not as a starved wretch to the saver of