“Without these indicia of my profession and my individuality I should be like David without his sling or Samson without his hair.  I should be merely Tutt, a criminal lawyer—­one of a multitude—­regarded perhaps as a shyster.  But in these robes of my high office I am a high priest of the law; just as you, my dear girl, are one of its many devoted and worthy priestesses.  Can you imagine me going to court in a bowler hat or arguing to the jury in a cutaway coat or bobtail business suit?  Can you picture Ephraim Tutt with his hair cut short or in an Ascot tie, any more than you can envisage him in riding breeches or wearing lilacs?  No!  There is but one Mr. Tutt, and these are his only garments.  He who steals my hat may steal trash, but without it I should be like a disembodied spirit unable to return to my earthly dwelling-place.

“A paltry hundred thousand?

“Nay, without my hat—­my helmet!—­I should be valueless to myself and everybody else; so estimate my worth and you can assay the value of my hat.  What am I worth in your opinion?”

And then Miss Wiggin, having glanced cautiously if quickly round, made a most astonishing declaration.

“Just about a million times more than anybody else in the whole world, you old dear!” she whispered and rising upon her toes she kissed his wrinkled cheek.

“Dear me!  You really mustn’t do that!” gasped Mr. Tutt.

“Well,” she retorted, “you can discharge me if you like.  But first sit down, light a cigar and let me tell you something.”

Mr. Tutt did as he was bid, chuckling.

“Well,” said Miss Wiggin, “there is such a thing as Horse’s Neck Extension after all!”

“Um—­you don’t say?” he answered, struggling to make his stogy draw.

“And it has an office with about a hundred other corporations of various kinds—­most of them with names that sound like the zoo—­Yellow Wildcat, Jumping Leapfrog, and that sort of thing.  It seems Horse’s Neck is played out and they are going to reorganize it—­”

“Who are?” demanded her employer, suddenly sitting erect.

“Scherer, Hunn, Greenbaum & Beck.”

“The dickens they are!” he ejaculated.  “That bunch of pirates?  Not if I know it!”

“Why not?”

“Reorganize!  Reorganize?  Reorganization is my middle name!” cried Mr. Tutt.  “So Scherer, Hunn, Greenbaum & Beck are going to reorganize something, are they?  Let ’em try!  Not so long as I’ve got my hat!”

“This is all very enigmatical to me,” replied Miss Wiggin.  “But then, I’m only a woman.  Aren’t they all right?  Why shouldn’t they reorganize a mine if it’s exhausted?”

“If it’s exhausted why do they want to reorganize it?” he demanded, climbing to his feet.  “Let me tell you something, Minerva!  All my life I’ve been fighting against tyranny—­the tyranny of the law, the tyranny of power, the tyranny of money.”

He drew fiercely on his stogy, which being desiccated flared like a Roman candle.