"_Is_ it?" demanded Fraser, with an assumption of the supremest surprise. "You know as well as I do." "H'm! I'd forgotten. Just the same, my plan was a good one. Gas is cheaper." He reached for his glass, at which Clyde's eye fell upon his missing fingers, and the young clubman exploded: "Well! If that's the kind of pill you are, maybe you didn't lose your mit in the Boer War either." Emerson answered for the adventurer: "Hardly! He got blood-poisoning from a hangnail." Clyde began to laugh uncontrollably. "Really! That's great! Oh, that's lovely! Here I've been gobbling fairy tales like a black bass at sunset. He! he! he! I must introduce Mr. Froel--Mr. Fra--Mr. What's-his-name to the boys. He! he! he!" It was evident that Fraser was not accustomed to this sort of treatment; his injured pride took refuge in a haughty silence, which further stirred the risibilities of Clyde until that young man's thin shoulders shook, and he doubled up, his hollow chest touching his knees. He pounded the tiles with his cane, stamped his patent-leather boots, and wept tears of joy. "What's the joke?" demanded the rogue. "Anybody would think _I_ was the sucker." "Where is George?" questioned Boyd, to change the subject. "In his trundle-bed, I suppose," said Fraser, stiffly. "Along about nine o'clock he begins to yawn like a trained seal. That's how I came to fall in with--this." He indicated the giggling Clyde. "I didn't have anything better to do." "Did you show George around, as I asked?" "Sure! After that fairy--_farrier_, I should say--finished his front feet, I took him out and let him look at the elevated railroad. Then he came back and hunted up the janitor of the building. He spent the evening in the basement with the engineer. Oh, he's had a splendid day!" "I say, Boyd, have you got another one like--like this?" Clyde asked, nodding at Fraser, who snorted indignantly. "Not exactly. Balt is quite the antithesis of Mr. Fraser. He is a fisherman, and he has never been East before." "He's learning the manicure business," sniffed the adventurer. "He has his nails curried every day. Says it tickles." "Oh, glory be!" ejaculated the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something historic. Please do! I'm bored to death." "We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson. "Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something." "Don't you do anything?" "Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don't _do_ anything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.