The sudden acrimony of these remarks called Loudon (who was a man of peace) from his reserve. “It's rather singular,” said he, “but I seem to have practised about all these means of livelihood.” “Tit you effer vind a nokket?” inquired the inarticulate German, eagerly. “No. I have been most kinds of fool in my time,” returned Loudon, “but not the gold-digging variety. Every man has a sane spot somewhere.” “Well, then,” suggested some one, “did you ever smuggle opium?” “Yes, I did,” said Loudon. “Was there money in that?” “All the way,” responded Loudon. “And perhaps you bought a wreck?” asked another. “Yes, sir,” said Loudon. “How did that pan out?” pursued the questioner. “Well, mine was a peculiar kind of wreck,” replied Loudon. “I don't know, on the whole, that I can recommend that branch of industry.” “Did she break up?” asked some one. “I guess it was rather I that broke down,” says Loudon. “Head not big enough.” “Ever try the blackmail?” inquired Havens. “Simple as you see me sitting here!” responded Dodd. “Good business?” “Well, I'm not a lucky man, you see,” returned the stranger. “It ought to have been good.” “You had a secret?” asked the Glasgow man. “As big as the State of Texas.” “And the other man was rich?” “He wasn't exactly Jay Gould, but I guess he could buy these islands if he wanted.” “Why, what was wrong, then? Couldn't you get hands on him?” “It took time, but I had him cornered at last; and then----” “What then?” “The speculation turned bottom up. I became the man's bosom friend.” “The deuce you did!” “He couldn't have been particular, you mean?” asked Dodd pleasantly. “Well, no; he's a man of rather large sympathies.” “If you're done talking nonsense, Loudon,” said Havens, “let's be getting to my place for dinner.”