it?" he said, scanning his daughter's pretty puzzled
face a little anxiously; "and don't you see ez I ain't goin' to sell
the Pontiac, it's just about ez cute in me, eh? He's a contractor
somewhere around yer, and wants to be near his work. So he takes the
room next to the Frenchman, that that ship captain quit for the mines,
and succeeds naterally to his chest and things. He's might
peart-lookin, that young feller, Rosey--long black moustaches, all his
own color, Rosey--and he's a regular high-stepper, you bet. I reckon
he's not only been a gentleman, but ez NOW. Some o' them contractors
are very high-toned!"

"I don't think we have any right to give him the captain's chest,
father," said Rosey; "there may be some private things in it. There
were some letters and photographs in the hair-dye man's trunk that you
gave the photographer."

"That's just it, Rosey," returned Abner Nott with sublime
unconsciousness, "photographs and love letters you can't sell for cash,
and I don't mind givin' 'em away, if they kin make a feller creature
happy."

"But, father, have we the RIGHT to give 'em away?"

"They're collateral security, Rosey," said her father grimly.
"Co-la-te-ral," he continued, emphasizing each syllable by tapping the
fist of one hand in the open palm of the other. "Co-la-te-ral is the
word the big business sharps yer about call 'em. You can't get round
that." He paused a moment, and then, as a new idea seemed to be
painfully borne in his round eyes, continued cautiously: "Was that the
reason why you wouldn't touch any of them dresses from the trunks of
that opery gal ez skedaddled for Sacramento? And yet them trunks I
regularly bought at auction--Rosey--at auction, on spec--and they
didn't realize the cost of drayage."

A slight color mounted to Rosey's face. "No," she said, hastily, "not
that." Hesitating a moment she then drew softly to his side, and,
placing her arms around his neck, turned his broad, foolish face
towards her own. "Father," she began, "when mother died, would YOU
have liked anybody to take her trunks and paw around her things and
wear them?"

"When your mother died, just this side o' Sweetwater, Rosey," said Mr.
Nott, with beaming unconsciousness, "she hadn't any trunks. I reckon
she hadn't even an extra gown hanging up in the wagin, 'cept the
petticoat ez she had wrapped around yer. It was about ez much ez we
could do to skirmish round with Injins, alkali, and cold, and w