“Mr. Flummers,” said McGlenn, “we all love you.”

“Say, John, I owe you two dollars.”

“No, Mr. Flummers, you don’t owe me anything.”

“But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started The Bankers’ Review."

“No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers.  If he gets money from me, it’s his and not mine.  We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of you, has added strength to our affection.  If you wish to keep friends, Mr. Flummers, you must do nothing which they could not forecast for you.  The development of hitherto undiscovered traits, of an unsuspected and therefore an inconsistent strength, is a dash of cold water in the face of friendship.  We are tied to you by a strong rope made of the strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes, made of the fine-spun strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers.  It is better to be a joss of pleasing indiscretion than to be a man of great strength, for the joss has no enemies, but sooner or later the strong man must be overthrown by the hoard of weaklings that envy has set against him.  Do you desire something to drink, Mr. Flummers?”

“No.”

“Now you place your feet on inconsistent and slippery ground, Mr. Flummers.  Remember that in order to hold our love you must not surprise us.”

“But I can’t drink now; I have just had something to eat.”

“Beware, Mr. Flummers.  Inconsiderate eating caused a great general to lose a battle, and now you are in danger.  You may suffer superfluous lunch to change our opinion of you, which means a withdrawal of our love.”

“Oh, wait a minute or two, John.  But never mind.  Say, there, boy, bring me a little liquor.  But, say, wasn’t it funny that Detective Stavers should give ten thousand dollars of that reward to the Home for the Friendless?  I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all those guys, and there’s not one of the whole gang that gives a snap for charity.  There’s a mystery about it somewhere.”

“Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks affair,” Whittlesy suggested.

Flummers gave him a scallop.  “Papa still holds you in the hollow of his hand.  Here you are; see?” He put his finger in the palm of his hand.  “You are right there; see?  And when I want you, I’m going to shut down, this way.”  He closed his hand.  “And people will wonder what papa’s carrying around with him, but you’ll know all the time.”

“My,” said Whittlesy, “what a dangerous man this fellow would be if he had nerve!  Oh, yes, people will wonder what you have in the hollow of your hand, and sooner or later, they will find that you are carrying three shells and a pea.  Get out, Kittymunks.  I’m afraid of you—­too tough for me.”