'em in right away, and we'll see what
we can do about the twenty."

He composed his mouth, reducing it to its normal dimensions and
arranging it in its normal shape, whereupon Mr. O'Royster, drawing a
roll of bills from his pocket, counted out twenty dollars.

Mr. Coldpin interposed. "You may naturally think, O'Royster," he
observed quietly, "that this man has some hold upon me by which he is in
a position to extort money. There is no such phase to this remarkable
case. I owe him nothing. He is simply in the habit of coming here and
demanding money, which I have let him have from time to time in small
sums to--well, get rid of him. I think, though, that it's time to stop.
You must not give him that $20. I won't permit it. Put it back in--"

[Illustration: "IT WOULDN'T HURT HIM TO SHOOT HIM."]

The man did something else in a facial way just as defiant of analysis
as his previous contortion and equally effective on Mr. O'Royster's
nerves. He moved toward Mr. O'Royster and held up his hand for the
money. It was slowly yielded up, and without so much as an
acknowledgment, the man thrust it into his pocket and stalked out.

Mr. O'Royster watched his misshapen body as it disappeared through the
entry. Then he gazed at the banker and finally remarked: "Can't say that
your friend pleases me, Coldpin."

"To tell the truth, O'Royster, I live in mortal terror of that creature.
He followed me into this room from the street one day and demanded,
rather than begged, some money. I scarcely noticed him, telling him I
had nothing, when he did something that attracted my attention, and the
next minute my flesh began to creep, my backbone began to shake, and I
thought I should have spasms. I gave him a handful of change and off he
went. Since then, as I told you, he has been coming here every month or
so. I'm going to move next May into a building where I can have a more
guarded office."

"Odd tale!" said Mr. O'Royster, "deuced odd. Why don't you get a
pistol?"

"Well, I have a sort of feeling that it wouldn't hurt him to shoot him.
Of course it would, you know, but still--"

"Yes, I know what you mean. He certainly does look as if a pistol would
be no adequate defense against him. What you want is a nice,
self-cocking, automatic thunderbolt."

They changed the subject, returning to their interrupted business, and
having concluded that they talked on until it had grown quite late.

"By Jove!" cried Mr. O'Royster, glancing a