"Don't tell," says Uncle Jimmy, "but I slipped it in an envelope and sent it to that shiftless Hank Tuttle, over at the point. You see, Hank guzzles hard cider, and plays penny ante, and is always hard up. He won't know where it come from, and won't care. The fine cigars them two handed out so free I'm keepin' to smoke Sunday afternoons." "Huh!" says I. "That's a good record so far, Uncle Jimmy. Anything more along that line?" "Wall," says he, "there was one chance I expect I shouldn't have let slip. Got to talkin' with a feller in the hotel, sort of a hook-nosed, foreign-speakin' man, who's in the show business. He says his brother-in-law, by the name of Goldberg, has got an idea for a musical comedy that would just set Broadway wild and make a mint of money. All he needed to start it was twenty or thirty thousand, and he figured it would bring in four times that the first season. And he was willin' to let me have a half interest in his scheme. I'd gone in too, only from what he said I thought it must be one of these pieces where they have a lot of girls in tights, and--well, I thought of Cynthy again. What would she say to me bein' mixed up with a show of that kind? So I had to drop it." "Any taxi rides or cigars in that?" says I. "Just cigars," says Uncle Jimmy. "But you mean to invest that fifty thousand sooner or later, don't you?" says I. "Cap'n Bill said I ought to," says he, "and live off'm the interest. He's a mighty smart business man, Cap'n Bill is. And I guess I'll find something before long." "You can't miss it," says I, "specially if you keep on as you've started. But see here, Uncle Jimmy, while I ain't got any wonderful deal of my own for you to put your money in, I might throw out a useful hint or two as to other folk's plans. Suppose you just take my card, and before you tie up with any accommodatin' financiers drop in at the studio, and talk it over with me." "Why, much obliged, Mr.--er--Professor McCabe," says he, readin' the name off the card. "Mebbe I will." "Better make it a promise," says I. "I hate to knock our fair village; but now and then you might find a crook in New York." "So I've heard," says he; "but I kind of think I'd know one if he run afoul of me. And everybody I've met so far has been mighty nice." Well, what else was there for me to say? There wa'n't any more suspicion in them gentle blue eyes of his than in a baby's. Forty years in Pemaquid! Must be some moss-grown, peaceful spot, where a man can grow up so innocent and simple, and yet have the stuff in him Uncle Jimmy must have had. So I tows him back to 42d-st., points him towards the new lib'ry again, and turns him loose; him in his old blue suit and faded cap, with Cap'n Bill's antique dive chart and certified check for fifty thousand in his inside pocket.