ders were with
beads of glass. He mops them with a white silk handkerchief.

So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just one
dollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped at
Riverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley
Morvis--and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him through
nicely.

"But, my dear boy!" says the Judge kindly. "The fare is six dollars.
And your meals?"

"A dollar-eighty is enough," insists the Bald Impostor. "I have enough
to make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn't ask you to
pay for my meals. I'll--I have a few cents and can buy a sandwich."

"My dear boy!" says Judge Orley Morvis, of Riverbank (and it is what
he did say), "I couldn't think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the
United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here!
Here are twenty dollars! Take them--I insist! I must insist!"

Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars.

[Illustration: HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION]

I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for one
dollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographed
copy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-order
the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight of
time. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the five
that does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give him
more than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes
give him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs.
And write in them, "_In memory of a pleasant visit_." I _do_ wonder
what he did with my book!

Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who's Whoer in Riverbank, but the town
was well represented in "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," and after
collecting twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor proceeded
to Mr. Gubb's office.

"Detective and decorator," he said to himself. "I wonder if William J.
Burns has a son? Better not! A crank detective might know all about
Burns. I'm his cousin. Let me see--I'm Jared Burns. Of Chicago. And
mother has been to Denver for the air." He took out the memorandum
book again. "The Waffles-Mustard case. The Waffles-Mustard case.
Waffles! Mustard! I must remember that." He knocked on the door.

"Mr. Gubb?" he asked, as Philo Gubb opened the door. "Mr. Philo Gubb?"

"I am him, yes, sir," said the paper-hanger detective