The dummy-chucker went to it for a good ten minutes. Then he leaned back in the heavily upholstered chair which the man servant had drawn up for him. He stared round him. "Smoke?" asked his host. The dummy-chucker nodded. He selected a slim panetela and pinched it daintily between the nails of his thumb and forefinger. His host watched the operation with interest. "Why?" he asked. "Better than cuttin' the end off," explained the dummy-chucker. "It's a good smoke," he added, puffing. "You know tobacco," said his host. "Where did you learn?" "Oh, we all have our ups and downs," replied the dummy-chucker. "But don't get nervous. I ain't goin' to tell you that I was a millionaire's son, educated at Harvard. I'm a bum." "Doesn't seem to bother you," said his host. "It don't," asserted the dummy-chucker. "Except when the police butt into my game. I just got off Blackwell's Island this morning." "And almost went back this afternoon." The dummy-chucker nodded. "Almost," he said. His eyes wandered around the room. "_Some_ dump!" he stated. Then his manner became business-like. "You mentioned a hundred dollars--what for?" The young man shrugged. "Not hard work. You merely have to look like a gentleman, and act like----" "Like a bum?" asked the dummy-chucker. "Well, something like that." The dummy-chucker passed his hand across his stubby chin. "Shoot!" he said. "Anything short of murder--_anything_, friend." His host leaned eagerly forward. "There's a girl--" he began. The dummy-chucker nodded. "There always is," he interrupted. "I forgot to mention that I bar kidnaping, too." "It's barred," said the young man. He hitched his chair a trifle nearer his guest. "She's beautiful. She's young." "And the money? The coin? The good red gold?" "I have enough for two. I don't care about her money." "Neither do I," said the dummy-chucker; "so long as I get my hundred. Shoot!" "About a year ago," resumed the host, "she accepted, after a long courtship, a young man by the name of--oh, let's call him Jones." The dummy-chucker inhaled happily. "Call him any darned thing you like," he said cheerily. "Jones was a drunkard," said the host. "And she married him?" The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted slightly. "No. She told him that if he'd quit drinking she'd marry him. She stipulated that he go without drink for one year." The dummy-chucker reached for a fresh cigar. He lighted it and leaned back farther in the comfortable chair. "Jones," continued the young man, "had tried to quit before. He knew himself pretty well. He knew that, even with war-time prohibition just round the corner, he couldn't keep away from liquor. Not while he stayed in New York. But a classmate of his had been appointed head of an expedition that was to conduct exploration work in Brazil. He asked his classmate for a place in the party. You see, he figured that in the wilds of Brazil there wouldn't be any chance for drunkenness."