"Something like that," says I. "Only not quite the same; for when them Hell Gate rocks was blown up that was the end of 'em. But we get a fresh crop of red light joints every season. You tell Cap'n Bill when you get back that his wickedness chart needs revisin'." "I'll write him that, b'gum!" says Mr. Isham. "Maybe that's why I couldn't locate this reservoir he said I ought to see, the one I was huntin' for when we fouled. See, it says corner of 42d and Fifth-ave., plain as day; but all I could find was that big white buildin' with the stone lions in front." "Naturally," says I; "for they tore the old reservoir down years ago and built the new city lib'ry on the spot. But how was it your friend put in so many warnin's against them old dives? You didn't come on to cultivate a late crop of wild oats, did you?" "Nary an oat," says he, shakin' his head solemn. "I ain't much of a churchgoer; but I've always been a moderate, steady-goin' man. It was on account of my havin' this money to invest." "Oh!" says I. "Much?" "Fifty thousand dollars," says he. I glances at him puzzled. Was it a case of loose wirin', or was this old jay tryin' to hand me the end of the twine ball? Just then, though, along comes Hermann with a couple of three-inch combination chops and a dish of baked potatoes all broke open and decorated with butter and paprika; and for the next half-hour Mr. Isham's conversation works are clogged for fair. Not that he's one of these human sausage machines; but he has a good hearty Down East appetite and a habit of attendin' strictly to business at mealtime. But when he's finished off with a section of deep-dish apple pie and a big cup of coffee he sighs satisfied, unhooks the napkin, lights up a perfecto I've ordered for him, and resumes where he left off. "It's a heap of money ain't it?" says he. "I didn't know at first whether or no I ought to take it. That's one thing I come on for." "Ye-e-es?" says I, a little sarcastic maybe. "Had to be urged, did you?" "Wall," says he, "I wa'n't sure the fam'ly could afford it exactly." "It was a gift, then?" says I. "Willed to me," says he. "Kind of curious too. Shucks! when I took them folks off the yacht that time I wa'n't thinkin' of anything like this. Course, the young feller did offer me some bills at the time; but he did it like he thought I was expectin' to be paid, and I--well, I couldn't take it that way. So I didn't git a cent. I thought the whole thing had been forgotten too, when that letter from the lawyers comes sayin' how this Mr. Fowler had----" "Not Roswell K.?" I breaks in. "Yes, that's the man," says he.