greasy old pocket-book. He was faint with gratitude. "All right," he
said, and he nodded and winked with intensest comprehension. "All
right. You let me know."

"Yes, I'll let you know when it is best to invest," repeated Carroll.
He turned on the threshold. "See here," he said, "if I were you, I'd
put that money in a bank. I wouldn't keep it here."

"Oh, nobody knows it's here, except you, and you are safe, I ruther
guess."

The barber laughed like a child. Carroll went out and passed up the
street. He heard from the Episcopal church the sound of singing.
Finally he left it behind. He was passing along a short extent where
there were no houses. On one side there was a waste tract of land,
and on the other a stretch of private grounds. The private grounds
were bordered by a budding hedge, the waste lot bristled with strong
young weeds. Carroll, as he swung along with his stately carriage of
the head and shoulders, took out his pocket-book. It was an
important-looking affair, the size of bank-notes. He opened it. There
was not a vestige of money within. He laughed a little softly to
himself, and replaced it. He lived on a street which diverged at
right angles from the main street. Just as he was about turning the
corner, a runabout in which were seated two men passed him. It
stopped, and the men turned and looked back at him. Then before
Carroll turned the corner, one hailed him:

"Hullo!" he said.

"Hullo!" returned Carroll, and stood waiting while the man swung his