"'Now,' said he confidently, 'I am absolutely safe, and I don't think the stout party saw you. Don't worry. I caught only my reflection in the little swinish eyes. I saw nothing in the background. What'll you have to eat? There seems to be enough in the pocket-book—which I ought to empty and chuck—to buy up several lunch-rooms, with the Waldorf thrown in for good measure.'
"'How much?' I asked.
"'Not now,' he whispered, 'not now. Wait until we get out. The proprietor is looking at us. Here's coffee, and pie, and sandwiches—ice cream—oh, anything you like!'
"We munched in silence and he pushed up a twenty-dollar bill in payment, much to the surprise of the man behind the counter. The change pocketed, we strolled out leisurely, picking our teeth with easy nonchalance.
"'I hated to give that fellow the double cross, but really, old cock, that is the smallest denomination in the bundle. Wander down to the Battery with me and we will investigate further.'
"'You're an Englishman,' I essayed knowingly. 'I am on to the lingo.'
"'Not on your life!' said he. Born in Newark, New Jersey, deah boy, I assure you—right back of the gas-house; what? These togs o' mine were handed out to me by an old pal—a cockney valet—and the accent goes with 'em, don't ye know?'
"'I'm on,' said I, sadder but wiser, and then relapsed into reverie.
"The Battery was thronged as usual, but we found a bench away from prying eyes.
"'Gee whiz! Jumping Jerusalem! Julius Caesar! Joe Cannon!' murmured my friend as he emptied the stuffing of the wallet into his hat. 'Am I dreaming again? I've often dreamt that I have found a bunch of money—picking it out of the gutter, usually—dimes, quarters, halves—bushels of 'em! But this is different—oh, so different! Can it be real? Am I on the boards again? Can it be only stage mon——? Look here; isn't this a windfall? Isn't this a monumental rake-off for a non-profesh? Heaven knows I'm but an amateur in this line—normally an honest man, with but slightly way-ward tendencies. Whooping O'Shaughnessy! Just look! Six one-thousand-dollar bills, fifty one-hundreds—that's eleven thousand! A sheaf of fifties and twenties, swelling the total to something like twelve thousand! Hoo-ray! Again I ask, am I dreaming? Pinch me, I'll stop snoring, 'deed I will. I'll turn over, dearie, and go to sleep again! Twelve thousand plunks! Wouldn't that everlastingly unsettle you? Well, well, well! Not so bad for a moment's effort before breakfast, eh? Ain't it simply grand, Mag? I wonder who and what our friend is, anyway. He wasn't dressed just for the part of bank messenger, though he had the inside lining, all right! A pursy old broker, I guess. Might have been a book-maker—you never can tell. Anyhow, I am sort o' sorry for the chap. It would break me all up if I lost a wad of that size! Who is he? Hell, what a fool I am! Here is the name on the flap of the wallet.