“He’s over in Rumley,” said Mr. Gooch shortly. “I guess he’s all right. Leastwise he was up to this evening.” “That’s good. By glory, I’ll be glad to see him. I’ve got some great news for him. Took me over a year to get it and cost me a lot of money, but it was worth it. My mind is at rest. Say, do you know I’ve been from one end of this country to the other? On the go every minute of the time. It wasn’t till about a month ago that I run across the right band.” “Band?” “Yep. Band. Struck ’em over in eastern Ohio. I guess I must have tracked down seventy-five or a hundred bands before I got the right one.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Gypsies,” said Mr. Baxter briefly, holding his gnarled red hands out to the fire. “You said something about coffee, Horace.” Mr. Gooch eyed him fearfully for a few moments. “Crazy as a loon,” he muttered. “Who? Me?” “No, no!” cried Mr. Gooch hastily. “Don’t get excited now, Ollie. Keep calm. I’ll put the coffee pot on right away. Just you keep quiet—” “Is that what you were feeling my head for?” demanded Mr. Baxter shrewdly. “Not at all, not at all, just—affection, Ollie.” “Umph! Well, I’m not crazy—not on your life. Hurry up with that coffee. Mind if I light my pipe?” “Certainly not. Go ahead,” urged Mr. Gooch, whose antipathy to tobacco was so pronounced that no one ever thought of smoking in his house. Mr. Baxter stretched out his wrinkled legs, and filled his pipe and lit it, all the while keeping his keen little eyes on his brother-in-law. Mr. Gooch splashed considerable water upon the hot stove as he filled the coffee pot. The visitor seemed to find pleasure in exhaling great clouds of rank-smelling smoke. “Yes, sir,” he began presently; “I hunted this country over before I found her. She remembered everything. She even remembered you, Horace.” He cackled. “I’d hate to tell you what she said about you.” Mr. Gooch was silent. “It took me nearly two weeks to get her to admit that she lied,” went on Mr. Baxter. “And I guess she wouldn’t have done it then if I hadn’t offered her a hundred dollars to tell the truth. You see, Horace, it was this way. As my boy Oliver grew up to be a man I realized that she had lied dreadfully about one thing, so that set me to thinking that she must have lied about others. She said he would grow up to be the living image of his father. Well, he didn’t. He’s a hundred per cent better looking than I am or ever was. That’s a fact, ain’t it?” “Are you talking about the gypsy who told his fortune?” inquired Mr. Gooch, comprehending at last. “Yes. Queen Marguerite. Mrs. Tobias Spink in private. One of the most interesting queens I’ve ever met, and, by gosh, I’ve met a lot of ’em in my travels. As I was saying, I got it into my head that if she could be wrong about Oliver looking like me she could have been wrong about everything else. So I made up my mind to find her and—”