' and
consider'ble lighter on shoe leather, as the feller said. Haw, haw! Hey?
Yes, indeed. Er--Have a cigar?"

But Galusha was still resolute as far as the cigar was concerned. Raish
lighted one himself and puffed briskly. To a keen observer he might have
appeared a trifle nervous. Galusha was not a particularly keen observer
and, moreover, he was nervous himself. If there had been no other
reason, close proximity to a Raish Pulcifer cigar was, to a sensitive
person, sufficient cause for nervousness.

Mr. Pulcifer continued to talk and talk and talk, of the weather, of the
profits of the summer season just past, of all sorts of trivialities.
Mr. Bangs' nervousness increased. He fidgeted in his chair.

"Really," he stammered, "I--I fear I must be going. You will excuse me,
I hope, but--ah--I must, really."

Pulcifer held up a protesting hand. It was that holding the cigar and he
waved it slowly back and forth. One of Galusha's experiences had been to
be a passenger aboard a tramp steamer loaded with hides when fire broke
out on board. The hides had smoked tremendously and smelled even more
so. As the dealer in real estate slowly waved his cigar back and forth,
Galusha suddenly remembered this experience. The mental picture was
quite vivid.

"Wait, Perfessor," commanded Horatio. "Throttle her down. Put her into
low just a minute. Say, Perfessor," he lowered his voice and leaned
forward in his chair: "Say, Perfessor," he repeated, "do you want to
make some money?"

Galusha gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

"Why--ah--Dear me!" he faltered. "I--that is--well, really, I fear I do
not fully grasp your--ah--meaning, Mr. Pulcifer."

Raish seemed to find this amusing. He laughed aloud. "No reason why you
should yet awhile, Perfessor," he declared. "I'll try to get it across
to you in a minute, though. What I asked was if you wanted to make
money. Do, don't you?"

"Why--why, I don't know. Really, I--"

"Go 'way, boy!" derisively. "Go 'way! Don't tell me you don't want
money. Everybody wants it. You and me ain't John D.'s yet, by a
consider'ble sight. Hey? Haw, haw! Anyhow _I_ ain't, and I'll say this
for you, Perfessor, if you are, you don't look it. Haw, haw!"

He laughed again. Galusha glanced despairingly at the locked door. Mr.
Pulcifer leaned forward and gesticulated with the cigar just before his
visitor's nose. The visitor leaned backward.

"If--if you don't mind," he said, desperately, "I really wish you
wo