wieldin' the fairy wand. Why, say, I'd as quick think of askin' Scrappy McGraw to preside at a peace conference!"

Mr. Judson's busy packin' away his papers in a document case; but he smiles vague over his shoulder.

"Honest now," I goes on, "do you think our friend will make good as the head of the sunshine department?"

"That," says Judson, "is a matter which Mr. Gordon seems to have left wholly to you."

"Eh?" says I, doin' the gawp act sudden on my own account. "Well, post me for a Bush League yannigan if it don't listen that way! Then I can see where I'll be earnin' my five per cent. all right, and yet some! Referee for a kind deeds campaign! Good night, Sister Sue! But it's on old Pyramid's account; so let J. Bayard shoot 'em in!"

Say, take it from me, this job of umpirin' a little-deeds-of-kindness campaign, as conducted by J. Bayard Steele, Esq., ain't any careless gladsome romp through the daisy fields. It's a real job!

He's the one, you know, that poor old Pyramid Gordon—rest his soul!—picked out to round up all the hangover grouches he'd strewed behind him durin' a long and active career, with instructions to soothe the same with whatever balm seemed best, regardless of expense.

And the hard part of it for Steele is that he has to get my O.K. on all his schemes before he can collect from the estate. And while I don't bill myself for any expert on lovin'-kindness, and as a gen'ral thing I ain't of a suspicious nature, I'm wise enough to apply the acid test and bore for lead fillin' on anything he hands in. Course maybe I'm too hard on him, but it strikes me that an ex-pool organizer, who makes a livin' as capper for a hotel branch of a shady stock-brokin' firm, ain't had the best kind of trainin' as an angel of mercy.

So when he shows up at my Physical Culture Studio again, the day after Lawyer Judson has explained for us the fine points of that batty will of Pyramid's, I'm about as friendly and guileless as a dyspeptic customs inspector preparin' to go through the trunks of a Fifth avenue dressmaker. He comes in smilin' and chirky, though, slaps me chummy on the shoulder, and remarks cordial:

"Well, my trusty coworker in well doing, I have come to report progress."

"Shoot it, then," says I, settlin' back in my chair.

"You will be surprised," he goes on, "to learn who is first to benefit by my vicarious philanthropy."

"Your which?" says I.

"Merely another simile for our glorious work," says he. "You couldn't guess whose name was in that envelope,—Twombley-Crane's!"

"The Long Island plute?" says I. "You don't say! Why, when did Pyramid ever get the best of him, I wonder?"

"I had almost forgotten the affair myself," says Steele. "It was more than a dozen years ago, when Twombley-Crane was still actively interested in the railroad game. He was president of the Q., L. & M.; made a hobby of it, you know. Used to deliver flowery speeches to the stockholders, and was fond of boasting that his road had never passed a dividend. About that time Gordon was organizing the Water Level System. He needed the Q., L. & M. as a connecting link. But Twombley-Crane would listen to no scheme of consolidation. Rather an arrogant aristocrat, Twombley-Crane, as perhaps you know?"

"Yes, he's a bit stiff in the neck," says I.

"He gave Gordon a flat no," goes on Steele. "Had him shown out of his office, so the story went. And of course Pyramid started gunning for him. Twombley-Crane had many interests at the time, financial, social, political. But suddenly his appointment as Ambassador to Germany, which had seemed so certain, was blocked in the Senate; his plans for getting control of all the ore-carrying steamer lines on the Lakes were upset by the appearance of a rival steamship pool; and then came the annual meeting of the Q., L. & M., at which Gordon presented a dark horse candidate. You see, for months Pyramid had been buying in loose holdings and gathering proxies, and on the first ballot he fired Twombley-Crane out of the Q., L. & M. so abruptly that he never quite knew how it happened. And you know how Gordon milked the line during the next few years. It was a bitter pill for Twombley-Crane; for it hurt his pride as well as his pocketbook. That was why he quit Chicago for New York. Not a bad move, either; for he bought into Manhattan Transportation at just the right time. But I imagine he never forgave Gordon."

"Huh!" says I. "So that's why they used to act so standoffish whenever they'd run across each other here at the studio. Well, well! And what's your idea of applyin' a poultice to Twombley-Crane's twelve-year-old sting?"

"Ah-h-h!" says J. Bayard, rubbin' his hands genial, and at the same time watchin' me narrow to see how I'm goin' to take it. "Rather difficult, eh? I confess that I was almost stumped at first. Why, he's worth to-day twice as much as Gordon ever was! So it ought to be something handsome, hadn't it?"

"That depends," says I. "Have anything special in mind, did you?"

"Oh, yes," says Steele. "Now what do you say to presenting him with a nice, comfortable steam yacht, all equipped for cruising, with a captain and——"

"Flag it!" says I. "Twombley-Crane ain't a yachty person, at all. He's a punk sailor, to begin with. Besides, he's tried ownin' a yacht, and she almost rusted apart waitin' for him to use her. Nothing like that for him."

J. Bayard looks mighty disappointed. He'd planned on spendin' a couple of hundred thousand or so of Pyramid's money at one lick, you see, which would have been some haul for him, and my turnin' the scheme down so prompt was a hard blow. He continued to argue the case for ten minutes before he gives up.

"Well, what is the objection, then," he goes on, "to a handsome limousine, with one of those luxurious French bodies, solid silver fittings, and——"

"He's got a garage full of cars now," says I, "and hardly ever steps into one himself. His fad is to stick to horses, you know."

More long-face business by J. Bayard. But he's a quick recoverer. "In that case," says he, "suppose I send over for a pair of Arabs, the best blood to be found, and have them put into his stable as a surprise?"

"Steele," says I, tappin' him encouragin' on the knee, "you've got the spendin' part down fine; but that alone don't fill the bill. As I take it, Pyramid meant for us to do more than just scatter around a lot of expensive gifts reckless like. 'Some kind and generous act,' is the way he put it. Let's remember that."

"But," says he, shruggin' his shoulders eloquent, "here is a man who has everything he wants, money enough to gratify every wish. How am I to do anything kind and generous for him?"

"That's all up to you," says I. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe there ever was anybody, no matter how rich, who had everything he wanted. There's always something, maybe so simple as to sound absurd, that he'd like and can't get. I'll bet it's that way with Twombley-Crane. Now if you don't know him well enough to find out, my advice would be to——"

"Oh, I know him well enough," breaks in J. Bayard, "even if he doesn't know me. I share the distinction with Gordon of having been, on one occasion, barred out of Twombley-Crane's office; only I got no farther than his private secretary. It meant a good deal to me at the time too, and wouldn't have hurt him at all. I merely wanted his firm to handle some bonds of a concern I was trying to promote.