of civil conduct. I am going to bejewel my house with books and
then I am going to live. I heard you say that the poet was the only man
who really lives, but he is not--those who worship with him live with
him. Yes, I am going to buy old books--I don't like new ones--and in my
library I will rule over the kingdoms of the earth. But I am going to
give you ten thousand dollars."

"You wouldn't make a very good lawyer, Bill. I suspected it, and now you
prove it. My dear fellow, I have no children, and am getting old,
therefore I have no use for money. Wait a minute. I believe there is a
five thousand dollar mortgage on my house. Well, you may lend me ten
thousand, but I don't believe I'll ever pay it back. I can't afford to
violate the rule. When a man lends me money it's gone. And that's right,
for if I thought I had to pay it back I might dodge you. Yes, sir. As I
was driving back to town I came within one of permitting myself to look
upon this happening as a strange affair, but it is not; it's perfectly
natural. Yes, sir. And as soon as the news spreads around, nearly every
man in the community will turn out to hunt for mica, and not a speck of
it will be found. A reminder of the imitators that clamor when the clear
voice of a genius has been heard. If I keep on fooling with this subject
I will regard it as strange, after all. Just think of the ten thousand
things that led to the discovery of that mine. Suppose we could trace
any occurrence back to its source. Take my sitting here, for instance.
Caused, we will say, by a dead cat. My father, a very young fellow at
the time, found a dead cat lying on his father's door-steps, and he
threw it over into a neighbor's yard. The neighbor saw him, came over
and demanded that he be whipped. He was whipped, according to the good,
old religious custom, and he ran away from home, went to many places,
came into this state as a clock peddler, fell in love, married, and here
I am, sitting here--all caused by a dead cat. My mother was the daughter
of a very proud old fellow. She ran away with my father and never again
was she received at home. I may have dreamed it, but it seems that I
remember my mother holding me in her arms, pointing to an old brick
house and telling me that my grandfather lived there. Yes, sir, if we
permit our minds to drift that way, everything is strange. Here comes
our man."

Ging stepped in, mopping his face with a handkerchief. "I'll take it,"
he said, and i