“That’ll do now.  Don’t want to hear any more.”

“Here my ingenuity comes into play.  I have invented a simple little machine which I call ‘The Patent Adjustable Atmospheric Scalp-lifter.’  Here it is.  The device consists of a disk of thin leather about six inches in diameter.  In the centre is a hole through which runs a string.  When the Indian desires to deal with a man with a bald head, he proceeds as follows—­observe the simplicity of the operation:  He wets the leather, stamps it carefully down upon the surface of the scalp, slides his knife around over the ears, gives the string a jerk, and off comes the scalp as nicely as if it had been Absalom’s.  In fact, you will see at once that it is an ingenious application of the ‘sucker’ used by boys to raise bricks and stones.  I know what you are going to say—­that a white man who is to be manipulated by an Indian needs succor worse than the red man.  It is an old joke, and a good one; but my desire is to bring joy to the wigwam of the Kickapoo and to make the heart of the Arapahoe glad.”

“Oh, do dry up and go down stairs.”

“You catch the idea, of course; but perhaps you’d like to see the apparatus in operation.  Wait a moment; I’ll show you how splendidly it works.”

Then, as the reporter resolutely continued at his task with his nose almost against the desk, the friend of the disconsolate red man suddenly produced a moist sucker and clapped it firmly upon the bald place on the reporter’s head, and then, before the indignant victim could offer resistance, the Great White Brother, with the string in his hand, careered around the office a couple of times, drawing the helpless journalist after him.  As he withdrew the machine he smiled and said,

“Elegant, isn’t it?  Could pull a horse-car with it.  I wish you’d come to Washington with me and lend me your head, so’s I can show the Secretary of the Interior how the thing works.  You have the best scalp for a good hold of any I’ve tried yet.”

But the reporter was at the speaking-tube calling for a boy to go for a policeman, and he didn’t seem to hear the suggestion.  And so Mr. Dodge folded up the machine, placed it in his carpet-bag, and went out smiling as though he had been received with enthusiasm and been promised a gratuitous advertisement.  He passed the policeman on the stairs, and then sailed serenely out of reach, perhaps to seek for another and more sympathetic bald man upon whom to illustrate the value of his invention.

* * * * *

Reference to the Indians reminds me of the very ungenerous treatment that Mr. Bartholomew, one of our citizens, received at the hands of certain red men with whom he trafficked in the West.

A year or two ago Mr. Bartholomew was out in Colorado for a few months, and just before he started for the journey home he wrote to his wife concerning the probable time of his arrival.  As a postscript to the letter he added the following message to his son, a boy about eight years old: