ght I'd bust.

"It was lucky she had the telephone between us or I should certainly of
been pinched for a crime of violence. But I got kind of collected in my
senses and I told her I already had been pushed as far as I could be;
and then I think of a good one: I ask her does she know what General
Sherman said war was? So she says, 'No; but what has that got to do with
it?' 'Well, listen carefully!' I says. 'You tell dear Leonard that I am
now saying my last word in this matter by telling you both to go to
war--and then ask him to tell you right out what Sherman said war was.'

"I listened a minute longer for her scream, and when it come, like sweet
music or something, I went to bed again and slept happy. Yes, sir; I got
even with them sharks all right, though she's telling all over town this
morning that I have repudiated a debt of honour and she's going to have
that thousand if there's any law in the land; and anyway, she'll get me
took up for conducting a common gambling house. Gee! It makes me feel
good!"

That's the way with this old Egbert boy; nothing ever seems to faze him
long.

"How much do you lose on the night?" I ask him.

"Well, the bar was a great help," he says, very chipper; "so I only lose
about fourteen hundred all told. It'll make a nice bunch for the
Belgians, and the few dollars you ladies made at your cheap booths will
help some."

"How will your fourteen hundred lost be any help to the Belgians?" I
wanted to know; and he looked at me very superior and as crafty as a
fox.

"Simple enough!" he says in a lofty manner. "I was going to give what I
win, wasn't I? So why wouldn't I give what I lose? That's plain enough
for any one but a woman to see, ain't it? I give Mis' Ballard, the
treasurer, a check for fourteen hundred not an hour ago. I told you I
knew how to run one of these grafts, didn't I? Didn't I, now?"

Wasn't that just like the old smarty? You never know when you got him
nailed. And feeling so good over getting even with the Wales couple that
had about a thousand dollars of his money that very minute!

* * * * *

Still from the dimly lighted bunk house came the wail of Sandy Sawtelle
to make vibrant the night. He had returned to his earlier song after
intermittent trifling with an extensive repertoire:

There's a broken heart for every light on Broadway,
A million tears for every gleam, they say.
Those lights above you think nothing o