"I'll tell you why I want you to come," he said. "There's a man in my office, or he will be there when we arrive, who is likely to take as much interest in this thing as I do--he couldn't take more--and I want him to hear your plan. Have you ever heard of Captain Buck Sanford?" Mr. Sanders paused in the street, and stared at the Fire Chief. "Heard of him? Well, I should say! He's the feller that fights a duel before breakfast to git up an appetite. Well, well! How many men has Buck Sanford winged?" "Oh, quite a number, but not as many as he gets credit for. He comes in my private office every morning, and he's a great help to me. He was rather down at the heels right after the war, and then I happened to find out that he had a great talent in getting the truth out of criminals. We sometimes arrest a man against whom there is no direct evidence of guilt, and if we didn't have some one skilful enough to make him own up, we could do nothing. Buck always knows whether a fellow is guilty or not, and we turn over the suspects to him, and whatever he says goes. He sits in my office like a piece of furniture, and you'd think he was a wooden man. Now you go down with me, and go over your scheme so that Buck can hear you, and whatever he says do, will be the thing to do." When Mr. Sanders and the Chief arrived at the head-quarters of the department, and entered the private office, they found a pale and somewhat emaciated young man sitting in a chair, which was leaned against the wall at a somewhat dangerous angle. He was apparently asleep; his eyes were closed, and he held between his teeth a short but handsome pipe. He made no movement whatever when the two entered the room. His hat was on the floor at the side of his chair, and had evidently fallen from his head. If Mr. Sanders had been called on to describe the young man, he would have said that he was a weasly looking creature, half gristle and half ghost. His hands were small and thin, and the skin of his face had the appearance of parchment. At the request of the Chief, Mr. Sanders went over the details of his plan from beginning to end, and at the close the young man, who had apparently been asleep, remarked in a thin, smooth voice, "Won't it be a fine day for a parade!" His eyes remained closed; he had not even taken the pipe out of his mouth. There was a silence of many long seconds. But the weasly looking man made no movement, nor did he add anything to his remark. Evidently, he had no more to say. "Buck is right," said the Chief. "What does he mean?" Mr. Sanders inquired. "Why, he means that it will be a fine day for a general turn-out of the department," replied the Chief. Mr. Sanders reflected a moment, and then made one of his characteristic comments. "Be jigged ef he ain't saved my life!"