nue at this minute, A. A.!
A hundred thousand dollars,--gladly, villingly,--yes, two hundred
thousand! I vonder vat things are like on Fif Avenue now,--at this
minute, I mean. I vonder what the vimmin are wearing this season. My
God, don't you vish you were on Fif Avenue, A. A.?"

"What?"

"I say don't you vish you were on Fif Avenue now?"

"No, I don't," gruffly.

"You--you don't?" gasped Nicklestick. "My God, where do you wish you
were?"

"Over in France,--or better still, in Germany,--that's where I'd like to
be. Keep still! Can't you see Careni-Amori is singing?"

Nicklestick was silent for two minutes. Then he volunteered: "Do you
know what that song vould cost if she vas to give it in the Metropolitan
Opera House, A. A.? A thousand dollars, von thousand simoleons. And
we get it for nothing. It ain't possible to realize that you can get
something for nothing in these days, is it? I vas saying to Morrie Shine
only this morning that--"

"Sh!" hissed an exasperated Brazilian in front of them.

"I guess we better not talk any more, A. A.," said Nicklestick,
deprecatingly. Presently he leaned close to Percival's ear and
whispered: "Miss Clinton is looking very fine today, isn't she?"
Receiving no reply, he waited a moment and then went on: "Landover is
a very lucky dog, eh?" Failing again, he was silent for some time. His
next effort was along a totally different line. "I've been feeling some
of the people out in regard to the election next week. I think it's
a great idea. You got a cinch, A. A. Nobody vants anybody but you for
governor. What seems to be--"

"Sh!"

"Oh, you go to the devil!" addressed the exasperated Mr. Nicklestick
to the Brazilian. "Ain't we got freedom of speech here on this island?
Veil, then! What seems to be troubling most every one, A. A., is who is
the best man for clerk. Nobody vants to be treasurer, for why? Because
there ain't anything to be treasurer about. Say, where are you going?"

"Nowhere," replied Percival, as he strode away.

Over against the line of trees on the opposite side of the wheat field
still loomed the gibbet from which Sancho Mendez and Dominic had stepped
blindfolded into another and darker world. While Pastor Mackenzie,
leading up to the glorious resurrection, was repeating the story of the
Crucifixion, Ruth Clinton, sitting behind him on the platform, stared
wide-eyed at this gaunt object, and she saw not Christ on the Cross but
the spectre of Sancho Mend