s, solid silver
fittings, and----"

"He's got a garage full of cars now," says I, "and hardly ever steps
into one himself. His fad is to stick to horses, you know."

More long-face business by J. Bayard. But he's a quick recoverer. "In
that case," says he, "suppose I send over for a pair of Arabs, the best
blood to be found, and have them put into his stable as a surprise?"

"Steele," says I, tappin' him encouragin' on the knee, "you've got the
spendin' part down fine; but that alone don't fill the bill. As I take
it, Pyramid meant for us to do more than just scatter around a lot of
expensive gifts reckless like. 'Some kind and generous act,' is the way
he put it. Let's remember that."

"But," says he, shruggin' his shoulders eloquent, "here is a man who has
everything he wants, money enough to gratify every wish. How am I to do
anything kind and generous for him?"

"That's all up to you," says I. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe
there ever was anybody, no matter how rich, who had everything he
wanted. There's always something, maybe so simple as to sound absurd,
that he'd like and can't get. I'll bet it's that way with
Twombley-Crane. Now if you don't know him well enough to find out, my
advice would be to----"

"Oh, I know him well enough," breaks in J. Bayard, "even if he doesn't
know me. I share the distinction with Gordon of having been, on one
occasion, barred out of Twombley-Crane's office; only I got no farther
than his private secretary. It meant a good deal to me at the time too,
and wouldn't have hurt him at all. I merely wanted his firm to handle
some bonds of a concern I was trying to promote. With merely a nod he
could have opened the door of success for me. But he wouldn't. Oh, no!
Played the role of haughty aristocrat, as usual, and never gave me
another thought. But I managed to get back at him, in a small way."

"Oh, you did, eh?" says I.

"It was a couple of years later, in Paris," goes on Steele. "I was
dining in one of those big cafes--Maxime's, I think,--when I recognized
him at the next table. He was telling a friend of a find he'd made in an
old printshop,--a pencil sketch by Whistler. He collects such things, I
believe. Well, this was something he wanted very badly; but he'd
happened to be caught without cash enough to pay for it. So he'd asked
the dealer to put it aside until next day. There was my chance. I know
something about etchings; own a few, in fact, although I'd never
sp