injustice."

Giggling, the negro scratched his head.

"Well, suh," he admitted, "Ah finds that gemmun gen'ly does change
they min's erbout me, aftuh they done cut er melon, like."

With the air of an emperor, P. Sybarite gave the negro a twenty-dollar
bill.

"And now," he cut short a storm of thanks, "if you'll be good enough
to give me just one more glass of champagne, I think I'll totter
home."

"Yas-_suh!_"

In a twinkling a glass was in his hand. As if it were so much
water--in short, indifferently--P. Sybarite tossed it off.

"And my hat."

"Yo' hat?" Pete iterated in surprise. "Yo' didn't leaf yo' hat wif me,
suh; yo' done tek it wif yo' when yo' went upstahs."

"Oh," murmured P. Sybarite, dashed.

He turned to the door, hesitated, turned back, and solemnly sat
himself down.

"Pete," said he, extending his right foot, "I wish you'd do something
for me."

"Yas-suh!"

"Take off my shoe."

Staring with naif incredulity until assured of the gentleman's
complete seriousness, the negro plumped down upon his knees, unlaced,
and removed the shoe.

"It's a shocking shoe," observed P. Sybarite dreamily.

Bending forward he tucked his original five-dollar note into the toe
of the despised footgear.

"I am not going home broke," he explained laboriously to Pete; "as I
certainly shall if I dare go upstairs again to find my hat."

"Yo's sholly sens'ble," Pete approved. "But they ain't no reason why
yo' sho'd tek enny mo' chances ef yo' don't wantuh," he added,
knotting the laces. "I'd just as leave's not go fetch yo' hat."

"You needn't bother," P. Sybarite returned with dignity.

IX

THE PLUNGER

A humour the most cool and reckless imaginable now possessed P.
Sybarite. The first flush of his unaccustomed libations seemed to have
worn itself out, his more recent draught to have had no other effect
than to steady his gratulate senses; and a certain solid comfort
resided in the knowledge that his hard-earned five dollars reposed in
safe deposit.

"They can't get _that_ away from me--not so long as I'm able to kick,"
he reflected with huge satisfaction.

And the seven hundred and thirty-five in his pocket was possessed of a
devil of restlessness. He could almost feel it quivering with
impatience to get into action. After all, it was only seven hundred
and thirty-five dollars: not a cent more than the wages of forty-nine
weeks' servitude to the Genius of the Vault of the Smell!

"That,"