“Foreigners, bazaars, vice, and Egbert Floud?” I murmured, wishing these to be related more plausibly one to another.

“I’m coming to it,” said the lady; and, after two sustaining inhalations from the new cigarette, forthwith she did: 

* * * * *

It was late last winter, while I was still in Red Gap.  The talk went round that we’d ought to have another something for the Belgians.  We’d had a concert, the proceeds of which run up into two figures after all expenses was paid; but it was felt something more could be done—­something in the nature of a bazaar, where all could get together.  The Mes-dames Henrietta Templeton Price and Judge Ballard were appointed a committee to do some advance scouting.

That was where Egbert Floud come in, though after it was all over any one could see that he was more to be pitied than censured.  These well-known leaders consulted him among others, and Cousin Egbert says right off that, sure, he’ll help ’em get up something if they’ll agree to spend a third of the loot for tobacco for the poor soldiers, because a Belgian or any one else don’t worry so much about going hungry if they can have a smoke from time to time, and he’s been reading about where tobacco is sorely needed in the trenches.  He felt strong about it, because one time out on the trail he lost all his own and had to smoke poplar bark or something for two weeks, nearly burning his flues out.

The two Mes-dames agreed to this, knowing from their menfolk that tobacco is one of the great human needs, both in war and in peace, and knowing that Cousin Egbert will be sure to donate handsomely himself, he always having been the easiest mark in town; so they said they was much obliged for his timely suggestion and would he think up some novel feature for the bazaar; and he said he would if he could, and they went on to other men of influence.

Henrietta’s husband, when he heard the money wouldn’t all be spent for mere food, said he’d put up a choice lot in Price’s Addition to be raffled off—­a lot that would at some future date be worth five thousand dollars of anybody’s money, and that was all right; and some of the merchants come through liberal with articles of use and adornment to be took chances on.

Even old Proctor Knapp, the richest man in town, actually give up something after they pestered him for an hour.  He owns the People’s Traction Company and he turned over a dollar’s worth of street-car tickets to be raffled for, though saying he regarded gambling as a very objectionable and uncertain vice, and a person shouldn’t go into anything without being sure they was dead certain to make something out of it, war or no war, he knowing all about it.  Why wouldn’t he, having started life as a poor, ragged boy and working his way up to where parties that know him is always very careful indeed when they do any business with him?