“Feeny's me name, and I'm a retired Captain of Industry from the United States of Ireland. If you've read the mornin' papers you've seen how that other great Captain of Industry, Mr. MacCandlish, and a party of friends was picked up off an island in the Gulf of Mexico.” The lawyer nodded. “Yes, I've read about that,” he said. “We was the Orinoco's coal heavers. It's us that saved the lives of them babes of millionaires. We stood by them when the sailors had quit the ship, we salvaged the wreck, and fed and tended 'em. We done all the hard work, and organized a government, and made that island so homelike you couldn't have told it from New York. Everything was legal, and I ask you if the rise in the price of staples wasn't a natural rise, owin' to the law of supply and demand?” The lawyer laughed and shook his head. “Wait!” said Mr. Feeny. “I'll say nothin' of the trouble it was to care for 'em, nor the spirit they showed,—how Mr. MacCandlish was caught escapin' into the pa'ms with a can from the back door of the St. Murphy-Feeny, where Mister Murphy of the Hotel Trust chucked his broken vittles—you might call it garbage and not misname it. When he was captured and fetched back penitent, I said to him: 'Mr. MacCandlish, I never thought you'd be one of the first to ignore the sacred rights of property,' and what he answered would be a case for libel if I had the mind to push it. Now, if stealin' isn't stealin', what is it?” The lawyer appeared to consider. “I got a roll of their checks as big round as a strong man's arm, and I'm lookin' for a way to get 'em cashed without gettin' pinched meself,” said Mr. Feeny. “And you wish me to arrange this if possible?” said the lawyer, smiling. “I am not sure I can, but if you like you may leave those checks with me and I'll see what I can do; wait a moment until I run them over, and give you an acknowledgment.” When he had done so, he looked up into Mr. Feeny's long sad face and whistled softly. Then he looked again at the bundle of checks and again at Mr. Feeny, who seemed to understand. “We was a prosperous people,” he said. “You were, indeed. Is this all, Mr. Feeny?” “There was some cash... all they had, I remember to have heard them say,” answered Mr. Feeny. “You may come this afternoon somewhere about four.” And that afternoon when Mr. Feeny, punctual to the second, presented himself with Mr. Corrigan and Mr. Murphy, the first thing his sad eyes saw was a neat pile of bills on the corner of Mr. Hargrew's desk. “The full amount is here, Mr. Feeny,” said the lawyer. “That incident of the garbage can was an important point in the adjustment of your claim. Yours must have been a profoundly interesting social experiment.” “I dunno as I should call it that,” said Mr. Feeny modestly. “For it's my opinion there's nothin' easier than political economy. The mistake most people makes is in havin' the demands instead of the supply,” and Mr. Feeny permitted himself to smile.