THE CONQUEST OF JAMESBY.


I reached home for tea a little late, and saw my young friend Jamesby in
the back yard where he had gone to admire my fowls, in which I take a
just pride. Old Henry, my colored servant, was playing the part of host;
for there was no one else at home. When I made my appearance, the
chickens had evidently become a matter of secondary interest.

Jamesby, a rising young banker of the city, was sitting on an empty box
near the fence, and Henry was standing before him, leaning upon his
cane, chuckling and talking in his customary deferential manner, which
has always made him a very acceptable servant about my premises.

I approached without being observed, and did not hail them, for I did
not wish to intrude too suddenly upon what appeared to be a very amusing
subject of conversation. I heard Jamesby say laughingly, "Why, it was in
the paper this morning--five or six columns of it! It was a great big
yarn. I can't imagine why he never told you anything about it."

I knew what they were talking about. I was well aware that I had told my
tale of Money Island for publication; for had I not been sought after by
men, women, and children for every imaginable explanation and sidelight
relating to the story which might have been omitted from the MS
furnished the printer? And had I not been asked to repeat by living
voice facts in the narrative which I had written, as I thought, with