forlorn hope lost in a fog, but when you came to cash in on that
basis it was most astonishing. In general a man of few words, on
occasions he would tip back his chair, insert the stem of his
corncob pipe in an opening provided by nature at the cost of a
tooth, and tell us about it.

[Illustration: "Scraggsy looked like a forlorn hope lost in a fog."]

"Why can't people be honest?" said Mr. Scraggs--_Silence_!

"Charley!" cried Red, reproachfully, "why don't you tell the
gentleman?"

"No, no, no!" replied Charley. "You be older'n me, Red--you
explain."

"Well," said Red, "I suppose the loss of their hair kind of
discourages 'em."

"I had rather," meditated Mr. Scraggs, "I had much rather wear the
top of my head a smooth white record of a well-spent life than go
amblin' around the country like the Chicago fire out for a walk,
and I repeat: Why can't people be honest?"

"I begin to pity somebody an awful lot," said Red. "Did you send
him home barefoot?"

"You go on!" retorted Mr. Scraggs. "I fell into the hands of the
Filly-steins oncet, and they put the trail of the serpent all over
me. I run into the temple of them twin false gods, Mammon and