The contractor swung about. A brown leather face looked up at him from across the sidewalk, where Jim McMunn, the pencil and shoestring man, stood on his two six-inch stumps of leg. Sir Thomas cast his overcoat across the back of the auto seat, thrust his square-palmed hand in his pocket, drew out a mighty roll of bills, and stripped one off. Thrusting the rest of the roll back in his pocket, Harrison held up the "greenback" he had kept out. It was a double-width five hundred dollar note. "Change it," he grated, his eyes glowing with the stir of the spite-devil jumping up and down inside him; "change it, an' it's yours, an' keep the shoelaces." Jim McMunn eyed the bill imperturbably a moment. Then a slit appeared in the lower part of the leather face--a slit whose corners curled slowly upward as Jim, laying on the sidewalk his tray of shoelaces, pulled up the faded skirt of his coat and slipped one twisted hand, not into his pocket but inside his trousers, deep down to where the stout fabric was folded back and forth under the iron-shod pad that protected the end of his right leg-stump. When, after a moment, the hand returned into view, it held a money-roll not unlike Sir Thomas' own. The slit in Jim McMunn's countenance kept on curling upward at the ends as he laid on the end of the shoelace tray, one after another, four hundred-dollar bills, then nine tens, then a five and four ones; then, out of his vest-pocket ninety cents in silver; then, on top of all, a neatly coiled and knotted pair of shoelaces. "Brah-_vo_!" came in leisurely comment from an unexpected quarter; "Harrison, old chappie, you lose, you know." The contractor jerked about. Leaning across the automobile from the street-side, with gloved hands resting on the tonneau door and cane hooked over one arm, stood no less a person than Sir William Ware, Baronet, man-about-town and sportsman, president of the Northern Bank and also of a certain exclusive club where Sir Thomas' application for membership was even now awaiting consideration. Sir Thomas Harrison, whose idea of "having the laugh" on the shoelace man, in spite of the latter's unexpected display of financial strength, had been to call a policeman and give McMunn in charge for judicial investigation as to the source of his wealth, abruptly changed his cue. "Y'bet," he jetted, gustily; "ya, y'bet. Laugh's on me--hey!" He crumpled the bill in his hand carelessly and tossed it toward its winner. As Mr. McMunn, in spite of his infirmity, very adroitly and gleefully caught the light, elusive paper ball, Harrison swung around upon the baronet and hooked the latter by the arm, tight as an anaconda. "I got strict orders frum th' Missis," he said, "for to bring you home to supper, one of these here nights. Well, we'll just make to-night the night, hey? How about it, Bohunk?" Sir William's features were composed. His eyes, blinking manfully, fought back a smile.