No living thing ever had his care. To these square pieces of paper he has devoted all his life. To obtain them he has schemed and worried and worked and lived.
Of all the stamps in his collection, Signor had one which had given him the greatest trouble and which he had nursed for years. It was the only postage stamp left of a first emission of one of the Bahama Islands.
For some reason or other this stamp was perforated and the edge around the holes in the paper was thinning away with a rapidity which frightened the old philatelist.
He loved that stamp as a father loves a sick child of genius. There was not another one like it in the world. Not another bit of carmine paper with a five-cornered crown and a small cross a little off centre.
There was a standing offer for the stamp by a philatelist of London who had tried for years to induce Signor to part with it, but the bent little man prized and loved the stamp even more, when he knew how much the other man across the waters wanted to have it.
Out of sheer perversity, he occasionally wrote to London to find out whether James Bolton would not offer a bigger price. With each increase the other offered, he grew in Signor's estimation. But to part with the "Bahama" was another question!
And suddenly, through some other philatelist, Signor learned that there existed in Mexico City another "Bahama," just like his own. At first he pretended that he did not believe the report. He was so sure that the one he had was unique!
But little by little the suspicion of such possibility wormed itself into him and undermined his confidence. He looked at the stamp, questioningly, as one would at the corpse of a dead woman, whose faithfulness was just impugned, but there was no answer.