Mr. MacDonald chatted with me for a few minutes, and thanked me for my promptness in sending that telegram the night before, for without it the postponement of the wedding would have revealed an absurd situation and held us all up to public ridicule. "I liked the way you put this thing," said he, as we parted. "Let me see you again." I now figure that the cash I paid Obreeon I would have won back at that interview a good hundredfold, in view of what MacDonald has done for me since, had there been no other developments. CHAPTER XXIV I was not satisfied with my partial victory before the lawyers. I hastened to Fulton Market and there found Mr. Tescheron surrounded by the slippery remnants of a big day's business in cold-storage and fresh merchandise. Here the art of making a three-cent Casco Bay lobster worth two thousand per cent. more on the New York City restaurant table is largely developed. The middleman who stands between the inhabitants of the sea and those of the land is indeed a fisher of men as well as fish. As an Inspector of Offensive Trades, I am ready to testify that the odor of the market is generally an index of the strength of the bank balance. The richness of the atmosphere around Tescheron's office convinced me that Jim could not afford to alienate the affections of such a father-in-law. As I advanced toward the small box in which Mr. Tescheron sat wrapped in his scaly ulster, I caught a glimpse of a live flounder, who appealed to me in whispers, as he made an effort to turn over and find some cooler ice. I did not interrupt him. He spoke as follows: THE MARKET FLOUNDER'S ICY REMARKS For Friday morn is hangman's day; Fast in the noose I dangle. At four A. M. the clam I seek, And get into a tangle. Alas! my wish--a one-eyed fish[B]-- To find a juicy ration; The clam on high began to die-- A sweet anticipation! Beware the scent, tho' hunger groan! My gentle kiss (a fishing smack) Shot far amiss and with a hiss I landed pretty well for'ard. A smack I smote with a fearful thwack, A stunning whack across the back, On the upper deck of the Judy Peck. At noon to-day, the fishermen say, We ornament the table-- O, wretched deed!--or chicken feed, Two rods behind the stable. My purpose was to be serious with Mr. Tescheron. I had fooled him quite enough. He recognized me, and as he was so cool, surrounded by his cracked ice, I did not give him the chance to refuse a hand-shake. "I came to apologize to you, Mr. Tescheron," I began. "It seems that you can't take a joke and that you flew to Hoboken--" He reached into a drawer and brought forth a small photograph of Hosley, which he handed to me. "Yes, I know you seemed to think it was all a joke," he said. "But what do you think of that picture, taken from the Rogues' Gallery?--look on the back."