"I have," said the Idiot. "One of the rare mintage of 1903, circulated for a short time only and warranted good as new." "I didn't know the 1903 quarter was rare," said the Bibliomaniac, who prided himself on being a numismatist of rare ability. "Who told you the 1903 quarter was rare?" "My old friend, Experience," said the Idiot. "What's rare about it?" demanded the Bibliomaniac. "Why--it's what they call ready money, spot cash, the real thing with the water squeezed out, selling at par on sight," explained the Idiot. "Millions of people never saw one, and under modern conditions it is very difficult to amass them in any considerable quantity. What is worse, even if you happen to get one of them it is next to impossible to hang on to it without unusual effort. If you have a 1903 quarter in your pocket, somehow or other the idea that it is in your possession seems to communicate itself to others, and every effort is made to lure it away from you on some pretext or other." "Excuse me for interrupting this lecture of yours, Mr. Idiot," said the Doctor, amiably, "but would you mind lending me that quarter to pay this messenger? I've left my change in my other clothes." "What did I tell you?" cried the Idiot, triumphantly. "The words are no sooner out of my mouth than they are verified. Hardly a minute elapses from the time Doctor Capsule learns that I have that quarter before he puts in an application for it." "Well, I renew the application in spite of its rarity," laughed the Doctor. "It's even rarer with me than it is with you. Shell out--there's a good chap." "I will if you'll put up a dollar for security," said the Idiot, extracting the coin from his pocket, "and give me a demand note at thirty days for the quarter." "I haven't got a dollar," said the Doctor. "Well, what other collateral have you to offer?" asked the Idiot. "I won't take buckwheat-cakes, or muffins, or your share of the sausages, mind you. They come under the head of wild-cat securities--here to-day and gone to-morrow." "My, but you're a Shylock!" ejaculated Mr. Brief. "Not a bit of it," retorted the Idiot. "If I were Shylock I'd be willing to take a steak for security, but there's none of the pound of flesh business about me. I simply proceed cautiously, like any modern financial institution that intends to stay in the ring more than two weeks. I'm not one of your fortnightly trust companies with an oak table, an unpaid bill for office rent, and a patent reversible disappearing president for its assets. I do business on the national-bank principle: millions for the rich, but not one cent for the man that needs the money." "I tell you what I'll do," said the Doctor. "If you'll lend me that quarter, I won't charge you a cent for my professional services next time you need them."