surrounding property, then called on a real estate firm.

At four-ten he went into the dim little basement wine-room of
Schoppenvoll. He had timed this to a nicety, hoping to arrive just
after the greetings were over and before the game had begun, and he
accomplished that purpose; for, with the well-thumbed cards lying
between them and three half-emptied steins of beer on the table, Ersten
was opposite a pink-faced man with curly gray hair, whose clothes sat
upon his slightly portly person with fashion-plate precision. It was
this very same suit about which Ersten was talking when Johnny entered.

"Na, Kurzerhosen," he said with a trace of pathos in his guttural
voice, "when you die we have no more suits of clothes like that."

"I thank you," returned the flexible soft voice of Kurzerhosen. "It is
like the work you make in your ladies' garments, Ersten. When you die
we shall have no more good walking clothes for our womenfolks."

"And when Schoppenvoll dies we have no more good wine," declared Ersten
with conviction and a wave of his hand as Schoppenvoll approached them
with an inordinately long-necked bottle, balancing it carefully on its
side.

Johnny had drawn near the table now, but no one saw him, for this
moment was one of deep gravity. Schoppenvoll, a tall, straight-backed
man with the dignity of a major, a waving gray pompadour, and a
clean-cut face that might have belonged to a Beethoven, set down the
tray at the very edge of the table and slid it gently into place. An
overgrown fat boy, with his sleeves rolled to his shoulders, brought
three shining glasses, three bottles of Glanzen Wasser and a corkscrew.

It was at this most inopportune time that Johnny Gamble spoke.

"Well, Mr. Ersten," he cheerfully observed, "I've come round to make
you an offer for that lease."

Mr. Ersten, his gnarled eyebrows bent upon the sacred ceremony about to
be performed, looked up with a grunt--and immediately returned to his
business. Mr. Kurzerhosen glanced round for an instant in frowning
appeal. Mr. Schoppenvoll paid no attention whatever to the
interruption. He gave an exhibition of cork-pulling which a watchmaker
might have envied for its delicacy; he poured the tall glasses
half-full of the clear amber fluid and opened the bottles of Glanzen
Wasser. The three friends, Schoppenvoll now sitting, clinked their
steins solemnly and emptied them. Ersten wiped the foam from his
bristling gray mustache.

"About that le