“But,” continued the Executive, “in this case the mandamus cannot lie. I move to quash the writ.” “But it does lie,” asserted the powerful devotee of fortune, hooking his arm through that of the Executive and turning him down the street, “and she can't be squashed.” The Governor had observed the very great change in the man, and knowing the Honorable Ambercrombie Hergan, he knew that this erratic person had chanced upon some solution for his dilemma--strange and but half-practical, the Governor had no doubt, but certainly not commonplace, and so he made no further offer of resistance. “Al,” said the gambler, hurrying his companion through the crowded street, “do you know where you are going?” “I have n't the slightest idea,” observed the Governor, with greatest unconcern. “Well, I'll tell you. You are going first to the hotel, then to the railroad, then to the Southwest, and you have just fifty-nine minutes between you and the train.” The Governor stopped short. “I can't go, Bill. I must sell these stocks.” “That's just the point,” said the gambler. “You aint going to sell them stocks. That's why I issued this here mandamus.” And he seized the Executive by the arm and fairly dragged him across the street. “Bill,” protested the Governor, “Bill, this is all nonsense. It don't go.” “Everything goes,” said the gambler. “Come on. We have lost three of them fifty-nine minutes already.” VIII THE Emporium of Crawley was not quite a trading-place as the Greek root of the word would indicate, unless transactions in which the unwary bartered his gain for experience, and the great unscrubbed of the Southwest pitted their wage against the riot of dissipation, could be held to partake of the nature of commerce. It was a fad with Crawley to assert that his Emporium was a clearinghouse,--a rather grim jest, heavy with truth. Indeed, all the currency of this primitive land seemed to pass, sooner or later, through the mammoth establishment of First Class Crawley, and in season and out of season as the dollar went through, a portion paused and remained in the fingers of the proprietor. And for this, also,--as the common-law pleader would put it,--truth clung to the pet declaration of Crawley.