but I say! I just gave a sort of yell and dropped the
whole thing!

Ever have some silly ass try to scare you by poking a red hot cigar at
you in the dark? Know how you jerk back? Well, there you are! For, give
you my word, when I peeled off the little cloth cap, regular blazes of
crimson fire seemed to shoot from the end of the knot.

Fact is, it wasn't a knot at all, but a button--a devilish glassy
button, something bigger than a dime, perhaps, and thick as the end of
your little finger. And there it lay against the silk, burning its way
through it like a red coal of fire.

Dashed if it didn't look that way, anyhow. I just sat there blinking
like a jolly owl, waiting to see the stuff begin to smoke, before I had
presence of mind to tell Jenkins to touch it to see if it would burn.

But Jenkins wouldn't. He just stood there with his jaw hanging and his
eyes bulging like champagne corks!

And it was just then that Billings rolled in.

I say "rolled in," because it always looks that way. That's the way
Billings is built, you know.

"I say, Dicky," he panted, "just missed another infernal express! Plenty
more trains, but I had a great inspiration strike me that I'd let you
put me up for the night. Hat, Jenkins! Now, don't say a word, Dicky, old
chap. Cane, Jenkins! Great pleasure, assure you--won't inconvenience me
at all. Gloves, Jenkins! Just give me something to sleep in, and I'll be
as comfortable here as I would be at the club--so don't worry any about
me, old chap. By the way, want to thank you for taking care of the kid.
Got home all right, I understand."

He plunked like a jolly elephant into the largest and most comfortable
chair in the room and wheezed for breath.

"And, Jenkins!" He raised one fat finger while he took a gasp. "Don't
mind if I do have a package of Dicky's Koroskos and a sloe fizz--not too
sweet, you know; and you may--"

He halted, his eyes suddenly riveted to the table, and straightened
inquiringly, his big hands poised upon the padded arms of the chair.

"Suffering Thomas cats! What's that?" he exclaimed. "The scream
there--flag of Morocco?"

And then, without pausing for reply, he dashed on:

"I say, old chap, if you're picking up those, I can get you a few for
nothing. You know Higgins, cashier-that-was of the Widows' National,
eh? Well, Higgins sent the governor a Morocco flag the other day from
Tangier. Fact is, he sent one to every director of the bank--and an
extra large