The
excessively shy and unseasonable habits of the matinal worm never
appealed favorably to me, but we have to have him once in a while, so
here I am. You know what for, don't you? Or do you?"

Cole surveyed his visitor dispassionately.

"I fancy I can guess," he replied.

"No, upon my word," the other rejoined with spirit; "you do me a grave
injustice, Benny. I've already had luncheon--that is to say, I've just
had breakfast. You can more fully appreciate the significance of my
call when I tell you that I came to you directly from the breakfast
table. No, sir, the object of this visit is strictly business."

Bennington Cole gravely buttoned up his coat and thrust both hands into
his pockets.

Mr. Wilkinson smiled buoyantly.

"Benny, you've a delightful surprise in store for you," he said.
"Having astonished you by telling you that I was not open to an
invitation to lunch, I am going to follow it up by assuring you that I
do not intend to suggest the extension of even the paltriest of
pecuniary accommodations. I am after bigger game."

Cole's suspicion melted into a semblance of interest.

"You don't mean--" he began.

"Yes, but I do, though," said the other. "That's the precise meaning
of this pious pilgrimage at this ungodly hour. I want to find out
where you keep that worm. Yesterday afternoon, at the Hurds', you had
an idea. You know you did--you can't conceal it from my piercing sense
of penetration. And your idea had the ring of real currency when you
accidentally dropped it. So I'm here to collaborate, that's all."

Mr. Osgood's junior partner looked around at the clerks, who hastily
resumed their interrupted duties.

"Come in here," he said to the visitor, and he led his guest into an
inner office next to Mr. Osgood's own, and closed the door behind him.

"I _did_ have an idea," he conceded, as he motioned Wilkinson to a
seat, "and it was an idea that had several things to recommend it. But
it was a business proposition, and if you will pardon my saying so,
Charlie, you are not the kind of a collaborator I would choose, if I
were doing the choosing."

"But you're not, my boy," replied the other, unabashed. "I'm doing the
choosing, myself, and I choose you. Your idea was palpably based on
separating my barnacled connection from some of the ghastly pile of
glittering gold that he has taken, five cents at a time, from the
widows, orphans, blind, halt, and lame who patronize his troll