“Show him in,” said Mitchell.

“Walters?” The impish clerk cocked his head on one side again and gulped down a chuckle at his own wit.

“Bowen, fool!  Jennie Page, his mother’s sister, died last week and left him a legacy—­twelve hundred dollars.  I’ll have that out of him, or most of it, as a first payment.”

The clerk turned, his mouth twisted awry to a malicious grin.

“Trust you!” he chuckled admiringly, and laid a confidential finger beside his crooked nose.  “Ho ho!  This is the third time you’ve sold the Watkins Farm; and it won’t be the last!  Oh, you’re a rare one, you are!  Four farms you’ve got, and the way you got ’em ho!  You go Old Benjamin one better, you do.

“Who so by the plow would thrive
Himself must neither hold nor drive.

“A regular hard driver, you are!”

“Some fine day,” answered Mitchell composedly, “you will exhaust my patience and I shall have to let you be hanged!”

“No fear!” rejoined the devil clerk, amiably.  “I’m too useful.  I do your dirty work for you and leave you always with clean hands to show.  Who stirs up damage suits?  Joe.  Who digs up the willing witness?  J. Pelman.  Who finds skeletons in respectable closets?  Joey.  Who is the go-between?  Joseph.  I’m trusty too, because I dare not be otherwise.  And because I like the work.  I like to see you skin ’em, I do.  Fools!  And because you give me a fair share of the plunder.  Princely, I call it—­and wise.  You be advised, Lawyer Mitchell, and always give me my fair share.  Hang Joey?  Oh, no!  Never do!  No fear!” A spasm of chuckles cut him short.

“Go on, fool, and bring Bowen in.  Then tell Walters the farm is already sold.”

The door closed behind the useful Joseph, and immediately popped open again in the most startling fashion.

“No; nor that, either,” said Joseph.

He closed the door softly and leaned against it, cocking his head on one side with an evil smile.

His employer glanced at him with uninquiring eyes.

“You won’t ask what, hey?  No?  But I’ll tell you what you were thinking of:  Dropping me off the bridge.  Upsetting the boat.  The like of that.  Can’t have it.  I can’t afford it.  You’re too liberal.  Why, I wouldn’t crawl under your car to repair it—­or go hunting with you—­not if it was ever so!”

“I really believe,” said Mr. Mitchell with surprised eyebrows, “that you are keeping me waiting!”

“That is why I never throw out hints about a future partnership,” continued the confidential man, undaunted.  “You are such a liberal paymaster.  Lord love you, sir, I don’t want any partnership!  This suits me.  You furnish the brains and the respectability; I take the risk, and I get my fair share.  Then, if I should ever get caught, you are unsmirched; you can keep on making money.  And you’ll keep on giving me my share.  Oh, yes; you will!  You’ve such a good heart, Mr. Oscar!  I know you.  You wouldn’t want old Joey hanged!  Not you!  Oh, no!”