"William, what do you suppose is the last thing Sam Wright's Sam has
done?"

The doctor confessed his ignorance.

"Well, his father sent him to Mercer on Monday to buy supplies for the
bank. He gave him seventy-five dollars. Back comes my young gentleman
with--what do you suppose? A lot of pictures of actors and actresses!
And no supplies."

"What! you don't mean he spent the money on the pictures?"

"Every bit of it! His mother came in and told me about it last night.
She said his father was frantic. She was dreadfully upset herself. As
for Sam, he kept saying that the 'prints,' as he called them, were
very valuable. Though I'm sure I can't see why; they were only of
actor people, and they had all died sixty or seventy years ago."

"Actors!" the doctor said. "Poor Samuel! he hates the theatre. I do
believe he'd rather have pictures of the devil."

"Oh, but wait. You haven't heard the rest of it. It appears that when
the boy looked at 'em yesterday morning he found they weren't as
valuable as he thought--I don't understand that part of it," Martha
acknowledged--"so what does he do but march downstairs, and put 'em
all in the kitchen stove! What do you think of that?"

"I think," said William King, "that he has always gone off at half-
cock ever since he was born. But Martha, the serious thing is his