ritates me every time I see it," he said.

"Some day," observed Major Brent, comfortably, "I'm going to astonish
you all."

"How?" demanded the Colonel, tersely.

The Major examined the end of his cigarette with a cunning smile.

"It isn't for sale, is it?" asked the Colonel. "Don't try to be
mysterious; it irritates me."

Major Brent savored his cigarette leisurely.

"Can you keep a secret?" he inquired.

The Colonel intimated profanely that he could.

"Well, then," said the Major, in calm triumph, "there's a tax sale on
to-morrow at Foxville."

"Not the O'Hara place?" asked the Colonel, excited.

The Major winked. "I'll fix it," he said, with a patronizing squint at
his empty glass.

But he did not "fix it" exactly as he intended; the taxes on the O'Hara
place were being paid at that very moment.

He found it out next day, when he drove over to Foxville; he also
learned that the Rev. Amasa Munn, Prophet of the Shining Band Community,
had paid the taxes and was preparing to quit Maine and re-establish his
colony of fanatics on the O'Hara land, in the very centre and heart of
the wealthiest and most rigidly exclusive country club in America.

That night the frightened Major telegraphed to Munnville, Maine, an
offer to buy the O'Hara place at double its real value. The
business-like message ended: "Wire reply at my expense."

The next morning an incoherent reply came by wire, at the Major's
expense, refusing to sell, and quoting several passages of Scripture at
Western Union rates per word.

The operator at the station counted the words carefully, and collected
eight dollars and fourteen cents from the Major, whose fury deprived
him of speech.

Colonel Hyssop awaited his comrade at the club-house, nervously pacing
the long veranda, gnawing his cigar. "Hello!" he called out, as Major
Brent waddled up. "Have you bought the O'Hara place for us?"

The Major made no attempt to reply; he panted violently at the Colonel,
then began to run about, taking little, short, distracted steps.

"Made a mess of it?" inquired the Colonel, with a badly concealed sneer.

He eyed the Major in deepening displeasure. "If you get any redder in
the face you'll blow up," he said, coldly; "and I don't propose to have
you spatter me."

"He--he's an impudent swindler!" hissed the Major, convulsively.

The Colonel sniffed: "I expected it. What of it? After all, there's
nobody on the farm to annoy us, is there?"

"Wait!" gr