voice and manner of one tremendously impressed.
"Grand Army of the Republic. Sons of the American Revolution. Sons of
Veterans. Tinkletown Battlefield Association. New York Imperial
Detective Association. Bramble County Horse-Thief Detective Association.
Chief of Fire Department. And what, may I ask, is the little round
button at the top?"

The marshal was astonished. "Don't you know what that is?"

"It doesn't appear to have any lettering--"

"It don't have to have any. That's an American Red Cross button."

"So it is,--so it is," cried the other hastily. "How stupid of me."

"And this one on the other lapel is a Liberty Loan button,--one hundred
dollars is what it represents, if anybody should ast you."

"I recognized it at once, sir. I have one of my own." He raised his hand
to his own lapel. "Why, hang it all, I forgot to remove it from my other
coat this morning."

"Well," said Anderson drily, "there 'pears to be some advantage in
havin' only one coat."

"Mr. Marshal," cut in the larger man brusquely, "we came to see you in
regard to a matter of great importance--and, I may add, privacy. Having
heard of your reputation for cleverness and infallibility--"

"As everybody in the land has heard," put in the other.

"--we desire your co-operation in an undertaking of considerable
magnitude. Quite frankly, I do not see how we can succeed without your
valuable assistance. You--"

"Hold on! If you're tryin' to get me to subscribe to a set of books,
so's my name at the head of the list will drag other suckers into--"

"Not at all, sir--not at all. We are not book-agents, Mr. Marshal."

"Well, what are ye?"

"Metallurgists," said the florid one.

"I see, I see," said Anderson, who didn't see at all. "You started off
just like a book-agent, er a lightnin'-rod salesman."

"My name is Bacon,--George Washington Bacon,--and my friend bears an
even nobler monicker, if that be possible. He is Abraham Lincoln
Bonaparte--a direct descendant of both of those illustrious gentlemen."

"You don't say! I didn't know Lincoln was any connection of
Bonaparte's."

"It isn't generally known," the descendant informed him, with becoming
modesty.

"Well, I'm seventy-three years old an' I never heard--"

"Seventy-three!" gasped Mr. Bonaparte, incredulously. "I don't believe
it. You can't be more than fifty, Mr. Crow."

"Do you suppose I fought in the Union Army before I was born?" demanded
Mr. Crow. "Where'd I get this G