Take J. Bayard Steele. Think I'd ever hunted him out and extended the fraternal grip, or him me? Not if everyone else in the world was deaf and dumb and had the itch! We're about as much alike in our tastes and gen'ral run of ideas as Bill Taft and Bill Haywood; about as congenial as our bull terrier and the chow dog next door. Yet here we are, him hailin' me as Shorty, and me callin' him anything from J. B. to Old Top, and confabbin' reg'lar most every day, as chummy as you please. All on account of our bein' mixed up in carryin' out this batty will of Pyramid Gordon's. First off I didn't think I'd have to see him more'n once a month, and then only for a short session; but since he put through that first deal and collected his twenty-four hundred commission, he's been showin' up at the studio frequent, with next to no excuse for comin'. You remember how he drew Twombley-Crane as the first one that he had to unload a kind and gen'rous act on, and how I made him give up the picture that he'd gloated over so long? Well, J. Bayard can't seem to get over the way that turned out. Here he'd been forced into doin' something nice for a party he had a grudge against, has discovered that Twombley-Crane ain't such a bad lot after all, and has been well paid for it besides, out of money left by his old enemy. "Rather a remarkable set of circumstances, eh, Shorty?" says he, tiltin' back comf'table in one of my front office chairs and lightin' up a fresh twenty-five-cent cigar. "An instance of virtue being rewarded on a cash basis. Not only that, but I was royally entertained down at Twombley-Crane's the other night, you know. I think too I interested him in a little development scheme of mine." "Jump off!" says I. "You're standin' on your foot. If you dream you can slip any of your fake stock onto him, you're due to wake up. Better stick to widows and orphans." At which jab Mr. Steele only chuckles easy. "What an engagingly frank person you are!" says he. "As though rich widows weren't fair game! But with the practice of philanthropy so liberally compensated I'm not troubling them. Your friend, the late Mr. Gordon, has banished the wolf from my door; for the immediate present, at least. I wonder if he anticipated just how much I should enjoy his post-mortem munificence?" And here J. Bayard gives a caressin' pat to his Grand Duke whiskers and glances approvin' down at the patent leathers which finish off a costume that's the last word in afternoon elegance. You've seen a pet cat stretch himself luxurious after a full meal? Well, that's J. Bayard. He'd hypothecated the canary. If he hadn't been such a dear friend of mine too, I could have kicked him hearty. "Say, you're a wonder, you are!" says I. "But I expect if your kind was common, all the decent people would be demandin' to be jailed, out of self-respect."