"Old Memphis Tuffles, sir," explained Jenkins darkly. "I saw him once in a opera, and he was that red." "By Jove!" I said thoughtfully, and fell to watching the little spider. It was dropping a life-line or something down to the pajamas. "But they say he ain't always red," Jenkins continued mysteriously. "A lady as is in the palmistry and card-reading line in Forty-second Street told me he turned black whenever he got down to business. Do you suppose that's where they get the idea of what they call black magic, sir?" I answered absently, for I was wondering whether the little spider was curious about the jolly red color there below him. And just then Jenkins' hand went out and swept at the little thread. The spider dropped and shot into a fold of the pajamas. "I say! Look out!" I exclaimed as Jenkins made another clutch. "Don't mash the beast on the silk; you'll ruin it--the silk, I mean!" "There it goes, sir!" said Jenkins eagerly. "Over by your hand." "No; by Jove; he's gone into a leg of the pajamas! Here, shake him out--gently now!" Jenkins lifted the garment gingerly and lightly shook it. But nothing came forth. "Why don't you look in the leg," I said, "and see if you can see it?" Jenkins peered down one of the silken tubes and forthwith dropped it with a yell. He jumped back. "Look out, sir," he cried excitedly; "don't touch 'em! There's a tarantula in there big as a sand crab, and it's alive." "A tarantula? Nonsense! We don't have tarantulas in New York," I protested. Jenkins gestured violently. "One's there, sir, anyhow! I saw one once on a bunch of bananas down in South Street. If they jump on you and bite, you might as well just walk around to the undertaker. A dago told me so." I backed nervously from the crumpled crimson pile on the floor. _Crimson?_ Of course, I knew it was crimson; it must be the shadow of the table there that made the things so dark--_black_, in fact. But my mind was on the tarantula; and I was thinking that it must have been wrapped with the pajamas. Yet I could not understand how this could be, considering how tightly the things had been rolled. Anyhow, it was there; and Jenkins pointed excitedly. "Look, sir! You can see it moving under the silk!" By Jove, so you could! And the thing seemed nearly as big as a rat. It was making for the end of the leg. I climbed upon a chair. "Get a club," I exclaimed, "and smash the thing as it comes out!" Jenkins rushed out and returned with a brassie. "Careful now," I warned from the chair. "Don't go and hit the dashed thing before it gets out, and make a devil of a mess on the silk! There it is--it's out! No, no--not yet! Wait, until it gets its whole body out! There now; he's drawing out his last beastly leg. Now--_now_ let drive!" And he did, and seemed to hit the thing squarely. I knelt on the chair and craned over, while Jenkins still held the stick tightly at the point where the thing had struck. "Get him?" I queried. "Where is it?"