"That's because the lock's broken and you've always kept it shut with a keg of nails. There are more pickpockets in New York than in Charleston, but only because there are more pockets to pick." "I don't get you," said Jonstone stiffly. A little later he did. The culprit was asked his name by a formidable desk sergeant. "Stephen Breckenridge." Bob Jonstone gasped. "Where do you come from?" "Lexington, Kentucky." Colonel Meredith let forth a howl of laughter. And after he had been frowned into decorum by the sergeant, he continued for a long time to look as if he was going to burst. For some hours Mr. Jonstone was moody and unamused. Then suddenly he broke into a winning smile. "Mel," he said, "I wouldn't have minded so much if he had been smart enough to get my money. It was bad finding out that he was a compatriot of ours, but much more to realize that he was a fool." XX Mr. Langham was consulted about everything. And it was to him that Maud Darling took Meredith's letter asking for accommodations. "We've only two rooms left," she said, "and such nice people have come, or are coming, that it would be an awful pity if we had the bad luck to fill up with two men that weren't nice. Did you ever hear of a Colonel Meredith?" "Is that his letter? May I look?" Mr. Langham read the letter through very carefully. Then he said, looking at her over the tops of his thick glasses: "I don't know if you know it, but I have made quite a study of handwritings. The writer of this letter is a gentleman--a Southern gentleman, if I am not mistaken. Accepting this premise, we may assume that his friend Mr. Robert Middleton Jonstone is also a Southern gentleman. Middleton, in fact, is pure South Carolinian." "But if they are from South Carolina, wouldn't our terms stagger them? I've always understood that Southern gentlemen lost all their money in the war." "Nevertheless," said Mr. Langham, "this is the writing of a rich man." "How _can_ you know that?" "I tell you that I have made a study of handwriting. It is also the writing of a horse-loving, war-loving, much-travelled man--in the late twenties." "You will tell me next that he is about five feet ten inches tall, has blue eyes, and is handsome as an angel." "You take the words out of my mouth, Miss Maud." "Tell me more." She was laughing now. "He is very handsome, but not as angels are--his eyes are too bold and roving. If he wasn't a good man he would be a very bad man. There was a time, even, when strong drink appealed to him. He is quixotically brave and generous. And I should by all means advise you to let him have his accommodations." "I can never tell when you are joking." "I was never more serious in my life. Shall I tell you something else that I have deduced?" "Please." "Well, then, he isn't married, Miss Maud, and he is a great catch!" Miss Maud blushed a trifle.