"I would like to get a couple of days off, Mr. Ringamy. I have some private business to attend to." "When could you get back?" "I'll report to you on Thursday morning." "Very well, then. Not later than Thursday. I think I'll take a couple of days off myself." * * * * * On Thursday morning Mr. Johnson Ringamy sat in his library looking out of the window, but the day was not as pleasant as when he last gazed at the hills, and the woods, and green fields. A wild spring storm lashed the landscape, and rattled the raindrops against the pane. Mr. Ringamy waited for some time and then opened the study door and looked in. The little room was empty. He rang the bell, and the trim servant-girl appeared. "Has Mr. Scriver come in yet?" "No, sir, he haven't." "Perhaps the rain has kept him." "Mr. Scriver said that when you come back, sir, there was a letter on the table as was for you." "Ah, so there is. Thank you, that will do." The author opened the letter and read as follows: "MY DEAR MR. RINGAMY,--Your arguments the other day fully convinced me that you were right, and I was wrong ("Ah! I thought they would," murmured the author). I have therefore taken a step toward putting your theories into practice. The scheme is an old one in commercial life, but new in its present application, so much so that I fear it will find no defenders except yourself, and I trust that now when I am far away ("Dear me, what does this mean!" cried the author) you will show any doubters that I acted on the principles which will govern the world when the theories of 'Gazing Upward' are put into practice. For fear that all might not agree with you at present, I have taken the precaution of going to that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no extradition treaty forces the traveler to return--sunny Spain. You said you could not tell my rendition of your signature from your own. Neither could the bank cashier. My exact mutation of your signature has enabled me to withdraw L10,000 from your bank account. Half the profits, you know. You can send future accumulations, for the book will continue to sell, to the address of "ADAM SCRIVER. _"Poste Restant, Madrid, Spain"_ Mr. Ringamy at once put the case in the hands of the detectives, where it still remains. A SLIPPERY CUSTOMER. When John Armstrong stepped off the train at the Union Station, in Toronto, Canada, and walked outside, a small boy accosted him. "Carry your valise up for you, sir?" "No, thank you," said Mr. Armstrong. "Carry it up for ten cents, sir?" "No." "Take it up for five cents, sir?" "Get out of my way, will you?" The boy got out of the way, and John Armstrong carried the valise himself. There was nearly half a million dollars in it, so Mr. Armstrong thought it best to be his own porter. * * * * *