"There's a new sucker born every minute," returned Mr. Phelps airily, whereat Wallingford, detecting that Mr. Phelps held his intelligence and education so cheaply as to offer this sage remark as original, inwardly fumed. "Come on and look him over, anyhow," insisted Phelps, rising. Wallingford arose reluctantly. "What's the matter with your highball?" he demanded. "It's great Scotch!" said Mr. Phelps enthusiastically, and drank about a tablespoonful with great avidity. "Come on; the boys are waiting," and he surged toward the door. Wallingford finished his own glass contemplatively and followed with a trace of annoyance. CHAPTER VII WALLINGFORD HELPS IN A GREEN-GOODS PLAYLET PURELY FOR ACCOMMODATION Into the back room of a flashy saloon just off Broadway Mr. Phelps led the way, after pausing outside to post Wallingford carefully on all their new names, and here they found Billy Banting and Larry Teller in company with a stranger, one glance at whom raised Wallingford's spirits quite appreciably, for he was so obviously made up. He was a raw-boned young fellow who wore an out-of-date derby, a cheap, made cravat which rode his collar, a cheap suit of loud-checked clothes that was entirely too tight for him, and the trousers of which, two inches too short, were rounded stiffly out below the knees, like stove-pipes, by top-boots which were wrinkled about the ankles. Moreover, the stranger spoke with a nasal drawl never heard off the stage. Wallingford, with a wink from Phelps, was introduced to Mr. Pickins as Mr. Mombley. Then, leaning down to Mr. Pickins with another prodigious wink at Wallingford, Phelps said in a stage-whisper to the top-booted one: "Mr. Mombley is our engraver. Used to work in the mint." "Well, I'll swan!" drawled Mr. Pickins. "I'd reckoned to find such a fine gove'ment expert a older man." With a sigh Wallingford took up his expected part. "I'm older than I look," said he. "Making money keeps a man young." "I reckon," agreed Mr. Pickins, and "haw-hawed" quite broadly. "And did you really make this greenback?" he asked, drawing from his vest pocket a crinkled new ten-dollar-bill which he spread upon the table and examined with very eager interest indeed. "This is one of that last batch, Joe," Short-Card Larry negligently informed Wallingford, with a meaning wink. "I just gave it to him as a sample." "By jingo, it's scrumptious work!" said Mr. Pickins admiringly. "Yes, they'll take that for a perfectly good bill anywhere," asserted Wallingford. "Just spend it and see," and he pushed the button. "Bring us a bottle of the best champagne you have in the house," he directed the waiter, and with satisfaction he noted the startled raising of heads all around the table, _including the head of Mr. Pickins_.