down by the river.

"'I offered him $2 for it, and I must have looked like I wanted it,
for he said it would be taking the pumpernickel out of his children's
mouths to hold any conversation that did not lead up to a price of
$35. I finally got it for $25.

"'Jeff,' goes on Andy, 'this is the exact counterpart of Scudder's
carving. It's absolutely a dead ringer for it. He'll pay $2,000 for it
as quick as he'd tuck a napkin under his chin. And why shouldn't it be
the genuine other one, anyhow, that the old gypsy whittled out?'

"'Why not, indeed?' says I. 'And how shall we go about compelling him
to make a voluntary purchase of it?'

"Andy had his plan all ready, and I'll tell you how we carried it out.

"I got a pair of blue spectacles, put on my black frock coat, rumpled
my hair up and became Prof. Pickleman. I went to another hotel,
registered, and sent a telegram to Scudder to come to see me at once
on important art business. The elevator dumped him on me in less
than an hour. He was a foggy man with a clarion voice, smelling of
Connecticut wrappers and naphtha.

"'Hello, Profess!' he shouts. 'How's your conduct?'

"I rumpled my hair some more and gave him a blue glass stare.

"'Sir,' says I, 'are you Cornelius T. Scudder? Of Pittsburg,
Pennsylvania?'