"Now," continued he, "we start this morning for a place which is only
four miles or so from the town of Saville, and I shall then request my
esteemed legal adviser, Mr. Crocker, to proceed to the town and buy a
ready-made suit of clothes for Mr. Allen, a slouch hat, a cheap necktie,
and a stout pair of farmer's boots. And I have here," he said, holding
up the package, "I have here the rest of it. My friends, you heard the
chief tell me that Drew was doing the lake for a summer hotel syndicate.
But if Drew wasn't a detective you can throw me into the lake! He wasn't
exactly Pinkerton, and I flatter myself that we were too many for him,"
said Mr. Cooke, with deserved pride; "and he went away in such a
devilish hurry that he forgot his hand-bag with some of his extra
things."

Then my client opened the package, and held up on a string before our
astonished eyes a wig, a pair of moustaches, and two bushy red whiskers.

And this was Mr. Cooke's scheme! Did it electrify his hearers? Perhaps.
Even the senator was so choked with laughter that he was forced to cast
loose one of the buttons which held on his turn-down collar, and Farrar
retired into the woods. But the gravity of Mr. Cooke's countenance
remained serene.

"Old man," he said to the Celebrity, "you'll have to learn the price of
potatoes now. Here are Mr. Drew's duplicates; try 'em on."

This the Celebrity politely but firmly refused to do.

"Cooke," said he, "it has never been my lot to visit so kind and
considerate a host, or to know a man who pursued his duty with so little
thought and care of his own peril. I wish to thank you, and to apologize