annually to impose mere theology upon savages far less benighted. Think for a moment what a tithe of that money would do for these poor people. Take the matter of green salads alone—to say nothing of soups—don't you have so simple a thing as lettuce here?"
"We do," I said, "but it's regarded as a trifle. They put vinegar and sugar on it and cut it up with their knives."
My guest shuddered.
"I dare say it's hopeless, but I shall always be glad to remember that you exist away from your City Hotel."
Thus did we reach the coffee and some cognac which the late L. Q. Peavey had gifted me with by the hands of his estimable kinswoman.
"And now to business," said my guest. His whimsical gray eyes had become studious and detached from our surroundings. He had a generous mouth, which he seemed habitually to sew up in a close-drawn seam, but this would suddenly and pleasantly rip in moments of forgetfulness. Being the collector at this moment, the mouth was tightly stitched.
"Let me begin this way," he said. "There are exactly six pieces in that house that will prevent my being honest so long as they are not mine. I am not unmindful of your succor, Major. I'll prove that to you if you look me up in town, send me a wire and a room shall be waiting for you,—and I am enraptured by that small and lively brown lady.
