a cuss, but if by some hocus-pocus they're sayin'
it's wuth what your friend says 'tis, I stand a fair chance o' gittin'
square. Better tell him he kin let it go fer a dollar 'n' not hang on
fer more. I'll be satisfied if I git my hat back."

Then Jess, the big-hearted, thought of Winn. "It's none o' my bizness,"
he said, "but ez you've made free to trust me, how air ye fixed on this
stock? Hev ye put much money into it?"

"I've put five hundred, part borrowed," answered Winn candidly, "and
they made me a present of five hundred shares besides."

"Wal, that's a credit to ye, anyhow," responded Jess with an approving
look, "an' ye kin feel ye come higher'n the parson." Then after a few
minutes' silent meditation during which he closed his eyes and stroked
his chin affectionately, he added: "As a gineral thing I'd be slow in
advisin' anybody to go crooked, but when ye feel ye're in the hands o'
sharpers, it's the only way. Now what I'd advise ye to do is to keep on
reportin' the same pay-roll right 'long 'n' lay most o' the men off fer
a week or two till ye find what yer friend's done with the stock. What
they send ye extra may come handy 'fore this cat's skinned and buried.
Then ye kin kinder take it easy for a spell 'n' look the island over so
long's yer time 'n' wages is goin' on. Let 'em do the fiddlin' while you
dance this time. They cac'late ter make ye do all the fiddlin' an' turn
about is fair play."

[Illustration: JESS HUTTON, PHILOSOPHER.]

"I'll take your advice and do just what you say," replied Winn eagerly,
his spirits once more raised to their normal level by this quaint
philosopher, and as it was late in the evening and the mention of fiddle
recalled Jess Hutton's hobby, he added: "You have lifted a load off my
mind, and now please give me a few tunes, Mr. Hutton. I feel like
hearing some music."

And Jess the genial, to whom his fiddle was wife, child, friend, and
companion, once more drew it forth, and as Winn lighted a fresh cigar
and leaned back to enjoy it, again as before was he charmed by the old
man's art.

And that spell wrought by "Money Musk," "Fisher's Hornpipe," "The
Devil's Dream" and such old-time dance tunes that followed in quick
succession carried Winn back to his boyhood days and out of the turmoil
and strife of city life, and once more he felt himself in the old farm
barn with lanterns swinging aloft and a score of country lads and
lassies keeping step with him to the same live