“Billions in it—billions; that’s what you mean. Why, look here; the thing is so close at hand, so imminent, so absolutely immediate, that if a man were to come to me now and say, Colonel, I am a little short, and if you could lend me a couple of billion dollars for—come in!” This in answer to a knock. An energetic looking man bustled in with a big pocket-book in his hand, took a paper from it and presented it, with the curt remark: “Seventeenth and last call—you want to out with that three dollars and forty cents this time without fail, Colonel Mulberry Sellers.” The Colonel began to slap this pocket and that one, and feel here and there and everywhere, muttering: “What _have_ I done with that wallet?—let me see—um—not here, not there —Oh, I must have left it in the kitchen; I’ll just run and—” “No you won’t—you’ll stay right where you are. And you’re going to disgorge, too—this time.” Washington innocently offered to go and look. When he was gone the Colonel said: “The fact is, I’ve got to throw myself on your indulgence just this once more, Suggs; you see the remittances I was expecting—” “Hang the remittances—it’s too stale—it won’t answer. Come!” The Colonel glanced about him in despair. Then his face lighted; he ran to the wall and began to dust off a peculiarly atrocious chromo with his handkerchief. Then he brought it reverently, offered it to the collector, averted his face and said: “Take it, but don’t let me see it go. It’s the sole remaining Rembrandt that—” “Rembrandt be damned, it’s a chromo.” “Oh, don’t speak of it so, I beg you. It’s the only really great original, the only supreme example of that mighty school of art which—” “Art! It’s the sickest looking thing I—” The colonel was already bringing another horror and tenderly dusting it. “Take this one too—the gem of my collection—the only genuine Fra Angelico that—” “Illuminated liver-pad, that’s what it is. Give it here—good day—people will think I’ve robbed a’ nigger barber-shop.” As he slammed the door behind him the Colonel shouted with an anguished accent— “Do please cover them up—don’t let the damp get at them. The delicate tints in the Angelico—” But the man was gone. Washington re-appeared and said he had looked everywhere, and so had Mrs. Sellers and the servants, but in vain; and went on to say he wished he could get his eye on a certain man about this time—no need to hunt up that pocket-book then. The Colonel’s interest was awake at once. “What man?” “One-armed Pete they call him out there—out in the Cherokee country I mean. Robbed the bank in Tahlequah.” “Do they have banks in Tahlequah?” “Yes—_a_ bank, anyway. He was suspected of robbing it. Whoever did it got away with more than twenty thousand dollars. They offered a reward of five thousand. I believe I saw that very man, on my way east.” “No—is that so?