corner they both fell over an iron object that rose from
the sidewalk close to the gutter. Clinging to it desperately, they
awaited their fate.

"If I only had a cow!" moaned the reporter--"or another nip from that
decanter, General!"

As soon as the pursuers observed where their victims had found refuge
they suddenly fell back and retreated to a considerable distance.

"They are waiting for reinforcements in order to attack us," said
General Ludlow.

But the reporter emitted a ringing laugh, and hurled his hat
triumphantly into the air.

"Guess again," he shouted, and leaned heavily upon the iron object.
"Your old fancy guys or thugs, whatever you call 'em, are up to date.
Dear General, this is a pump we've stranded upon--same as a cow in New
York (hic!) see? Thas'h why the 'nfuriated smoked guys don't attack
us--see? Sacred an'mal, the pump in N' York, my dear General!"

But further down in the shadows of Twenty-eighth Street the marauders
were holding a parley.

"Come on, Reddy," said one. "Let's go frisk the old 'un. He's been
showin' a sparkler as big as a hen egg all around Eighth Avenue for
two weeks past."

"Not on your silhouette," decided Reddy. "You see 'em rallyin' round
The Pump? They're friends of Bill's. Bill won't stand for nothin' of
this kind in his district since he got that bid to Esopus."

This exhausts the facts concerning the Kali diamond. But it is deemed
not inconsequent to close with the following brief (paid) item that
appeared two days later in a morning paper.

"It is rumored that a niece of Gen. Marcellus B. Ludlow, of New York
City, will appear on the stage next season.

"Her diamonds are said to be extremely valuable and of much historic
interest."

XXV

THE DAY WE CELEBRATE

"In the tropics" ("Hop-along" Bibb, the bird fancier, was saying to
me) "the seasons, months, fortnights, week-ends, holidays, dog-days,
Sundays, and yesterdays get so jumbled together in the shuffle that
you never know when a year has gone by until you're in the middle of
the next one."

"Hop-along" Bibb kept his bird store on lower Fourth Avenue. He was an
ex-seaman and beachcomber who made regular voyages to southern ports
and imported personally conducted invoices of talking parrots and
dialectic paroquets. He had a stiff knee, neck, and nerve. I had gone
to him to buy a parrot to present, at Christmas, to my Aunt Joanna.

"This one," said I, disregarding his homily on the subdivisio