"It may be any one of these," he said, ruefully looking at the four pins.
"That's true," Iris agreed. "But you may have them all, if you wish."
"Can't you judge which it is? See, this one is extra large."
"Then that's not it. I know it was of ordinary size. I scarcely looked at it, but I know that. Nor was it this crooked one. It was straight, I'm sure. But it may easily have been either of these other two."
"Suppose I take these two, then, and put them in my collection, with the surety that one or other is the identical pin."
"Do so, if you like," and Iris gave him a humoring smile. "Now, do you care to hunt for the dime? If you do, there's the lawn. But I won't help you, the sun is too warm."
"I think I won't hunt, or if I do, it will be only a little. I have this pin, and that is sufficient for a memento of this case. I am on my way to a house in Vermont, where I hope to get a button that figured in a sensational tragedy up there. I thank you for being so kind and I would greatly prefer to pay you for this pin. I am not a poor man."
"Nonsense! I couldn't take money for a pin! You're more than welcome to it. And one of those two must be the one, for I'm sure there's no other pin on this floor."
"I'm sure of that, too. I looked most carefully. Good-by, Miss Clyde, and accept the gratitude of a man who has a foolish but innocent fad."
Iris bowed a farewell at the front door, and returned to the living-room smiling at the funny adventure.