pasture, spavin or no spavin. Why don't Egypt hold off and let Uncle
What's-his-name enjoy his new hair and hopes?"

"He has known how to collect in the money that's due him," stated
Mr. Files, "compound interest and all! He was only getting back his
investments. But he has never put out any of the kind of capital that
earns liking or respect or love. He has woke up to what he has been
missing. He's trying to collect what he has never invested. And he can't
do it, mister! No, sir, he can't!"

The drummer was a young man. He asked a natural question. "Isn't the
girl willing to be an old man's darling?"

"You might go over to Britt's bank and ask her," suggested Mr. Files,
crisply. "She's bookkeeper there. But you'd better not let that young
fellow that's cashier overhear you."

"So that's it? Say, events in Egypt in the near future may make some of
the mummies here sit up and take notice!"

"Shouldn't wonder a mite," agreed Mr. Files, beginning to gather up the
dishes.



CHAPTER II

FIRST COLLECTIONS

That morning Mr. Britt did not dawdle in the hotel office with his