oms was a little brown
spider. Catch the idea? Suggested spider's web, you know.

"They're rather red, sir," Jenkins commented dubiously.

Red? Well, I should say! My! How jolly red they were! We spread them
under the light, and the red seemed to flow all over the table and fall
from the edge. Why, they were as red as--

I tried to think of something they were as red as, but somehow I
couldn't fetch the idea. I thought of red ink and blood and fireworks,
but they didn't seem to be up to them at all. And a big, velvety petal
that dropped from one of the crimson roses just seemed brown beside
them.

And yet, dash it, I knew they reminded me of something, you know; I knew
they _must_.

"They remind me--" I began, and had to pause--idea balked, you know.
"They remind me of--of--Jenkins, what do they remind me of?"

"Of _him_, sir," replied Jenkins promptly.

"Eh?"

"Old Memphis Tuffles, sir," explained Jenkins darkly. "I saw him once in
a opera, and he was that red."

"By Jove!" I said thoughtfully, and fell to watching the little spider.
It was dropping a life-line or something down to the pajamas.

"But they say he ain't always red," Jenkins continued mysteriously. "A
lady as is in the palmistry and card-reading line in Forty-second Street
told me he turned black whenever he got down to business. Do you suppose
that's where they get the idea of what they call black magic, sir?"

I answered absently, for I was wondering whether the little spider was
curious about the jolly red color there below him. And just then
Jenkins' hand went out and swept at the little thread. The spider
dropped and shot into a fold of the pajamas.

"I say! Look out!" I exclaimed as Jenkins made another clutch. "Don't
mash the beast on the silk; you'll ruin it--the silk, I mean!"

"There it goes, sir!" said Jenkins eagerly. "Over by your hand."

"No; by Jove; he's gone into a leg of the pajamas! Here, shake him
out--gently now!"

Jenkins lifted the garment gingerly and lightly shook it. But nothing
came forth.

"Why don't you look in the leg," I said, "and see if you can see it?"

Jenkins peered down one of the silken tubes and forthwith dropped it
with a yell. He jumped back.

"Look out, sir," he cried excitedly; "don't touch 'em! There's a
tarantula in there big as a sand crab, and it's alive."

"A tarantula? Nonsense! We don't have tarantulas in New York," I
protested.

Jenkins gestured violently. "One's there, sir, anyh