"No chance," he says; "no such luck for me! I've walked blindfolded into every trap that was set for me and now it's up to me to play the string out till the last penny is gone. At the present rate that shouldn't take long. But see here, Jeff, I wonder why I sit here unburdening my woes on you? I know you would help me if you could, but what can you do? What can anybody do?" "Mr. Dallas," I says, "you can't never tell. Sometimes the humblest he'ps out the greates'. Seems lak I heared tell 'at once't 'pon a time 'twuz the gabblin's of a flock of geese w'ich saved one of these yere up-state towns--Utica, or maybe 'twas Rome. I don't rightly remember now whut 'twas ailed 'at town; mebbe 'twuz fixin' to go fur William Jinnin's Bryant?--somethin' lak 'at! Anyway, the geese gits the credit in the records fur the savin' of it. An' ain't you never read whur a mouse comes moseyin' 'long one time an' gnawed a lion loose frum the bindin' snares w'ich helt him? So, ez I says, you can't never tell. But I wonder would you do me a small favor? I wonder would you read a piece out of a su'ttin book ef I wuz to bring it to you out of the liberary, an' w'en you'd done 'at ef you would go on to baid an' try to compose yore min' an' git some needful sleep?" "What's the idea?" he says. "Nummine," I says. "Wait 'twell I fetches you the book." So I goes and gets it down from the shelf where it belongs. It's the furtherest one of a long row of big shiny black books, which all of them has got different names. But the name of this one is: _Vet to Zym_. He takes a look at it when I lays it before him, and he says: "Why, this is a volume of the Encyclopedia! What bearing can this possibly have on what we've just been talking about?"