"Sure," says I. "If she'll have you, take her and welcome." Now you'd thought that would have satisfied him, wouldn't you? But he acted like he'd got a half-arm jolt on the wind. He backed off and cooled down as if I'd chucked a pail of water over him. "Well," says I, "you don't want it in writin', do you? I'm just out of permit blanks, and me secretary's laid up with a bad case of McGrawitis. If I was you, I'd skip back and keep my eye on Sadie. She might change her mind." The Baron thought he'd seen a red flag, though. He put in a worry period that lasted while you could count fifty. Then he forks out his trouble. "It is not possible that I have mistake, is it?" says he. "I am learn that Madam Deepworth is--what you call--one heiress? No?" See? I'd been sort of lookin' for that; and there it was, as plain as a real-estate map of Gates of Paradise, Long Island. Me bein' so free and easy with tellin' him to help himself had thrown up a horrible suspicion to him. Was it true that Sadie's roll was real money, the kind you could spend at the store? And say, long's it was up to me to write her prospectus, I thought I might as well make it a good one. "Do you see that movin'-van out there?" says I. The Baron saw it. "And have you been introduced to these?" I says, flashin' a big, wrist-size wad of tens and fives. Oh, he was acquainted all right. "Well," says I, "Sadie's got enough of these put away to fill two carts like that." Fetch him? Why, his fingers almost burnt a hole through his gloves. "Ah-h-h!" says he, and takes a little time out to picture himself dippin' into the family pocket-book. Course, it wa'n't any of my funeral, but when I thinks of a sure-enough live one, like Sadie, that I'd always supposed had a head like a billiard table, gettin' daffy about any such overstuffed frankfurter as this specimen, I felt like someone had shoved a blue quarter on me. Worst of it was, I'd held the step-ladder for her to climb up where such things grow. I was gettin' rawer to the touch every minute, and was tryin' to make up my mind whether to give the Baron a quick run down the stairs, or go off an' leave him to dislocate his neck tryin' to see the small of his back in the mirror; when in comes Pinckney, with that little sparkle in his eyes that I've come to know means any kind of sport you're a mind to name. "Hello!" says he, givin' the Baron a hand. "You found him, eh? Hello, Shorty. Got it all fixed, have you?" "Say," says I, pullin' Pinckney over by the window, "did you put this up on me?" He said he didn't, honest. "Then take your fat friend by the hand," says I, "and lead him off where things ain't liable to happen to him." "Why, what's up, Shorty?" says he. "Haven't you given him your blessing, and told him to go in and win?"