"He'd be a crook if he knew how; but he stumbles over his feet," Blackie confided to Wallingford. To Clover he said: "Look out for the big man. He's a pretty smooth article, and you'll miss the gold out of your teeth if you don't watch him." It was a recommendation, and a shrewd one. Mr. Clover was prepared by it to be impressed; he ended by becoming a dazed worshiper, and his conquest began when his host ordered the dinner. It was not merely what he ordered, but how, that stamped him as one who habitually dined well; and to Clover, who had always lived upon a beer basis, the ascent to the champagne level was dizzying. It was not until they had broached their second quart of wine that business was brought up for discussion. "I understand you've just had a bit of hard luck, Mr. Clover," said Wallingford, laughing as if hard luck were a joke. Mr. Clover winced within, but put on a cheerful air. "Merely what was to have been expected," he replied. "You refer, I suppose, to the death of one of our members, but as our Order now has a large enrollment we are only averaging with the mortality tables." "What is your membership?" asked the other with sudden directness. "At our present rate of progress," began Mr. Clover, eloquently, squaring his shoulders and looking Mr. Wallingford straight in the eye, "thousands will have been enrolled upon our books before the end of the coming year. Already we are perfecting a new and elaborate filing system to take care of the business, which is increasing by leaps and bounds." Mr. Wallingford calmly closed one blue orb. "But in chilly figures, discounting next year, how many?" he asked. "Live ones, I mean, that cough up their little dues every month." The Supreme Exalted Ruler squirmed and smiled a trifle weakly. "You might just as well tell me, you know," insisted Mr. Wallingford, "because I shall want to inspect your books if I buy in. Have you a thousand?" "Not quite," confessed Mr. Clover, in a voice which, in spite of him, would sound a trifle leaden. "Have you five hundred?" persisted Mr. Wallingford. Mr. Clover considered, while the silent Mr. Daw discreetly kept his face straight. "Five hundred and seventeen," he blurted, his face reddening. "That isn't so bad," said Mr. Wallingford encouragingly. "But how do you clinch your rake-off?" At this Mr. Clover could smile with smug content; he could swell with pride.