“‘Ya-a-as,’ says I. With life ripplin’ along like this I was endorsin’ the whole time-table.

“Wine is a mawker.  The first small glass of it hadn’t gone whistlin’ down afore she begun to mawk me.  ‘Ezekiel!’ says she, ’be merry; disport yourself—­where’s your game blood?  Try a fall with this gentleman.’

“‘Ya-a-as,’ says I to myself.  And then I says aloud and hearty, ’My friend, you’ve used me right.  It ain’t that I want to make money, but just to help your friend along; I haven’t any greenbacks much in my possession, but,’ I says, ‘if you’re willin’ to arrange a dicker, whereby I exchange eighteen ounces of nuggets—­the present market value of Chink Creek gold bein’ seventeen dollars and forty cents per ounce—­for two thousand dollars of your friend’s bills, it bein’ herein stated and provided that you can pass ’em like you say you can to my satisfaction, why, I’m your little huckleberry, waitin’ to get picked.’

“‘I got you,’ says he, and we shook hands.  ’You go to your hotel and bring the dust,’ says he, ’and I’ll slide along and make the old man sign the bills.  I’ll meet you on the corner where we met before.’

“So I met him on the corner, and we went up-stairs to a room where a little old man was signin’ bills fast and furious.

“‘Slide out one,’ says my friend, ’till I take Mr. Scraggs out and prove I’m no liar.’

“The old man carefully blotted a hundred-dollar green and away we goes to a bank.  It was a sure-enough bank.  Outside was the name in big letters and inside was the man called ‘teller’ that won’t tell you nothin’ and looks as if he hated you, like all good banks has.

“‘Fives and tens for this, please,’ says my friend.  That teller never quit thinkin’ of his dyspepsy, but chucked the stuff right over the counter.

“‘How’s that?’ says my friend, when we got outside.

“‘All right,’ says I.  ‘And here’s my plunder.’  I let him heft the bag.

“‘Heavy truck, ain’t it?’ he said.  ’But we can always stand the weight, can’t we?’ He picked out one of them glitterin’ Chinese works of art and regarded it real lovin’.  ‘Yes,’ says he, ’it’s sure nice stuff.  Hurry along and we’ll close the dicker.’

“Up-stairs the old gent had the money ready for me to count.

“‘Correct?’ says he.

“‘Ya-a-as,’ says I.

“’Well, I’ll put ’em in a neat bundle for you,’ says he.  When that was done I handed my precious gold over.

“‘Now, come here and have one last drink of satisfaction,’ says my friend.  I turned to the table and imbibed my last tonic at his expense.

“‘Here you are, sir,’ says the little old man, handin’ me my package.  ’And much obliged to you; only remember this:  Secret Service men is all about; don’t open her till you get safely in your room—­mind that, now!  Good-day.’

“Down the steps I goes, ker-thump, ker-thump.  But when I reached the street I begun to wonder to myself if I hadn’t better just see what those fellers would do next—­no harm in ketchin’ on to as many city ways as possible—­so I hid under the stoop till they come out, glancin’ sharp this way and that, but missin’ Ezekiel George Washington.