Carroll backed away almost sternly.  “I don’t want your money,” he said.

The barber stood aghast.  Captain Carroll had actually a look of offence.

“I hope as I hain’t done nothin’ that ain’t reg’lar,” he stammered.

Captain Carroll stepped close to him.  He laid one white long-fingered hand on the barber’s white jacket-sleeve.  He whispered with slyest confidence, although no one was within hearing: 

“You keep that money a little while longer,” he whispered.  “I wouldn’t say it to every man, but I will to you.  There’s going to be a lawsuit, and the stock may drop a point or two.  It won’t drop much, and it will recover more than it loses, but then is the time to buy, especially when you want a big block, and—­I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, thank you,” said the barber, restoring the bills to a greasy old pocket-book.  He was faint with gratitude.  “All right,” he said, and he nodded and winked with intensest comprehension.  “All right.  You let me know.”

“Yes, I’ll let you know when it is best to invest,” repeated Carroll.  He turned on the threshold.  “See here,” he said, “if I were you, I’d put that money in a bank.  I wouldn’t keep it here.”

“Oh, nobody knows it’s here, except you, and you are safe, I ruther guess.”

The barber laughed like a child.  Carroll went out and passed up the street.  He heard from the Episcopal church the sound of singing.  Finally he left it behind.  He was passing along a short extent where there were no houses.  On one side there was a waste tract of land, and on the other a stretch of private grounds.  The private grounds were bordered by a budding hedge, the waste lot bristled with strong young weeds.  Carroll, as he swung along with his stately carriage of the head and shoulders, took out his pocket-book.  It was an important-looking affair, the size of bank-notes.  He opened it.  There was not a vestige of money within.  He laughed a little softly to himself, and replaced it.  He lived on a street which diverged at right angles from the main street.  Just as he was about turning the corner, a runabout in which were seated two men passed him.  It stopped, and the men turned and looked back at him.  Then before Carroll turned the corner, one hailed him: 

“Hullo!” he said.

“Hullo!” returned Carroll, and stood waiting while the man swung his trap round with cautious hisses—­he drove a high-stepping mare.

“Are you a man by the name of Carroll?” said he, holding the fretting mare tightly, and seesawing the lines, as she tried to dart first one way, then the other.

Carroll nodded.

“Well, look a-here,” said the man, “I heerd you wanted to buy some hosses.”

“You heard rightly,” said Carroll.

“Wall, I’ve got a pair that can’t be beat.  Kentucky bred, four-year-old, sound as a whip.  Not an out.”

“Are you a trader?”

“Yep.  Hed them hosses in last week.  New-Yorker jest sent for ’em, then he died sudden, and his heirs threw ’em on the market at a sacrifice.”