He was followed by the most utterly objectionable and repulsive-looking person I have ever set eyes on in my life--a young man, thin, and of less than medium height, flashily dressed in cheap clothes, with patent boots and brilliant necktie. His cheeks were sallow; and his eyes, deeply inset, were closer together than any I have ever seen. "My dear," Mr. Parker exclaimed, "let me present Mr. Moss--my daughter, sir; Mr. Walmsley--also one of us. I have been privileged," Mr. Parker continued, dropping his voice a little, "to watch Mr. Moss at work this afternoon; and I can assure you that a more consummate artist I have never seen--in Wall Street, at a racetrack meeting, or anywhere else." Mr. Moss smiled deprecatingly and jerked his head sideways. "The old un's pretty fly!" he remarked, as he laid his hat on the table. "I am very glad to know Mr. Moss, of course," Eve said; "but I am not in the least in sympathy with the--er--branch of our industry he represents. You know, daddy, it's much too dangerous and not a bit remunerative." "To a certain extent, my dear," her father admitted, "I am with you. Not all the way, though. One needs, of course, to discriminate. Personally I must admit that the nerve and actual genius required in finger manipulation have always attracted me." Mr. Moss paused, with his glass halfway to his lips. He jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Parker. "He is one for the gab, ain't he?" he remarked confidentially to me. For the life of me, at that moment I could not tell whether to leave the room in a fit of angry disgust or to accept the ludicrous side of the situation and laugh. Fortunately for me, perhaps, I caught Eve's eye, in which there was more than the suspicion of a twinkle. I chose, therefore, the latter alternative. Mr. Moss watched us for a moment curiously. "What might your line be, guvnor?" he asked as he set down his glass. "Oh, anything that's going," I replied carelessly. "City work is rather my specialty." "I know!" Mr. Moss exclaimed quickly. "Slap-up offices; thousands of letters a day full of postal orders; shutters up suddenly--and bunco! Fine appearance for the job!" he added admiringly. Eve sat down and began to laugh softly to herself. She had a habit of laughing almost altogether with her eyes in a way that expressed more genuine enjoyment than anything I have ever realized. She rocked herself gently backward and forward. Mr. Moss looked at us both a little suspiciously. "Seem to be missing the joke a bit--I do!" he remarked. Eve sat up and was instantly grave. "It is your clear-sighted way of putting things," she explained softly. "You seem to understand people so thoroughly." "I don't generally make no mistake about the number of beans in the game," Mr. Moss observed in a self-congratulatory tone. "I can tell a crook from a mug a bit quicker than most."