“Exactly. So that we stand just as we did before we left home, do we not? Except that you are by five dollars a poorer man. It was sheer extravagance, your purchasing that box. I suppose your imagination connected it with the box—the box that Dr. Hirsch told me of. But the probabilities are overwhelmingly against that contingency. Then, why did you waste your money, buying it? Intrinsically, it isn’t worth carrying away.” “Hush, hush,” interposed my friend. “Don’t talk to me. I have an idea—an idea for a story—Ã propos of Arkush and his daughter. Bless me with silence until I have meditated it to my soul’s satisfaction.” At home he began, “Yes, as you have said, our interview with Arkush was not fruitful. We have simply learned the name—or the assumed name—of the last owner of your father’s picture—for, that it is your father’s picture I have no sort of doubt. The next step would logically be to find Mr. White and question him. It is possible that a tempting advertisement in the newspaper might fetch him; but it is not probable. Very likely, he would never see it. Very likely, he is a thief, and even if he did see it, would be restrained by caution from replying to it. So that the outlook is not hopeful. As for this box being the box—why, the hypothesis is absurd. It was not on that supposition that I bought it. And even if it were the box, it would be of little consequence, empty as it is. I trust you are not too much disappointed.” “By no means. I have managed to live for a considerable number of years in my present state of ignorance about my vanished legacy, and doubtless I shall pull through a few years more. Only, of course I was bound to follow the clew that this picture seemed to furnish, as far as it would lead; and having done so I am contented. I was not very hopeful when we started out, wherefore I am not very disappointed at the result. Let’s think no more about it.” “Good! Your mind is imbued with a sound philosophy. But now—” “But now, tell me why in the name of common sense you invested five dollars in that box?” “Precisely what I was driving at. Now you are going to have a practical illustration of the value of experience.” He took the box up from the table where he had laid it. “You think that ‘intrinsically, this wasn’t worth carrying away,’ and that my expenditure of half an eagle was a reckless waste of good material. To an inexperienced observer your view would certainly seem the correct one. The box is scarcely beautiful. The wood is oak. The metal with which its surface is so profusely ornamented looks like copper. The thing as a whole appears to have been designed for a cheapish jewel-case, now in the last stage of decrepitude. Do I express your sentiments?” “Eloquently and with precision.”