"I was just coming to see you." "You had somet'in' to git stoff'?" "No; I--Oh, I didn't know but you might like to see me." "Yass?--Well--yass. I wish you come yesterday." "Indeed? Why so; to protect you from reporters and beggars?" "Naw; my wife she keep off all doze Peter an' John. Naw; one man bring me one wile cat to stoff. Ah! a _so_ fine as I never see! Beautiful like da dev'l! Since two day' an' night' I can't make out if I want to fix dat wile cat stan'in' up aw sittin' down!" "Did you decide at last?" "Yass, I dis-ide. How you think I diside?" "Ah! you're too hard for me. But one thing I know." "Yass? What you know?" "That you will never do so much to anything as to leave my imagination nothing to do. You will always give my imagination strong play and never a bit of hard work." "Come! Come and see!" I took my hat. "Is that what you called to see me about?" "Ah!" He started in sudden recollection and brought forth the lottery company's certified check for the seventy-five thousand dollars. "You keep dat?--lill' while?--for me? Yass; till I mek out how I goin' to spend her." "Manouvrier, may I make one condition?" "Yass." "It is that you will never play the lottery again." "Ah! Yass, I play her ag'in! You want know whan ole Pastropbon play her ag'in? One doze fine mawning--mebbee--dat sun--going rise hisself in de wes'. Well: when ole Pastropbon see dat, he play dat lott'ree ag'in. But biffo' he see dat"--He flirted his thumb. Not many days later a sudden bereavement brought our junior partner back from Europe and I took my family North for a more stimulating air. Before I went I called on my St. Peter Street friend to say that during my absence either of my partners would fulfil any wish of his concerning the money. In his wife's sewing-basket in the back room I noticed a batch of unopened letters, and ventured a question which had been in my mind for several days. "Manouvrier, you must get a host of letters these days from people who think you ought to help them because you have got money and they haven't. Do you read them?" "Naw!" He gave me his back, bending suddenly over some real or pretended work. "I read some--first day. Since dat time I give 'em to old woman-- wash hand--go to work ag'in--naw use." "Ah! no use?" piped up the soft-voiced wife. "I use them to light those fire to cook those soup." But I felt the absence of her accustomed laugh. "Well, it's there whenever you want it," I said to the husband as I was leaving. "What?" The tone of the response was harsh. "What is where?" "Why, the money. It's in the bank." "Hah!" he said, with a contemptuous smile and finished with his thumb. That was the first time I ever saw a thumb swear. But in a moment his kindly gravity was on him again and he said, "Daz all right; I come git her some day." VI