outer shell, the fashionable morning-coat, which Mr. Stenner, the
gentleman, who had offered the wager, has quietly thrown across his arm
and is conveying away for his own advantage.

An hour later Mr. Stenner sat in his humble lodgings at North Beach,
with the pilfered garment upon his knees. He had already taken the
opinion of an eminent pawnbroker on its value, and it only remained to
search the pockets. Mr. Stenner's notions concerning gentlemen's coats
were not so clear as they might have been. Broadly stated, they were
that these garments abounded in secret pockets crowded with a wealth of
bank notes interspersed with gold coins. He was therefore disappointed
when his careful quest was rewarded with only a delicately perfumed
handkerchief, upon which he could not hope to obtain a loan of more than
ten cents; a pair of gloves too small for use and a bit of paper that
was not a cheque. A second look at this, however, inspired hope. It was
about the size of a flounder, ruled in wide lines, and bore in
conspicuous characters the words, "Western Union Telegraph Company."
Immediately below this interesting legend was much other printed matter,
the purport of which was that the company did not hold itself
responsible for the verbal accuracy of "the following message," and did
not consider itself either morally or legally bound to forward or
deliver it, nor, in short, to render any kind of service for the money
paid by the sender.

Unfamiliar with telegraphy, Mr. Stenner naturally supposed that a
message subject to these hard conditions must be one of not only grave
importance, but questionable character. So he determined to decipher it
at that time and place. In the course of the day he succeeded in so
doing. It ran as follows, omitting the date and the names of persons and
places, which were, of course, quite illegible: