into a writing desk with a little--"

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said I confronting them. "Will you be
good enough to explain this intrusion?"

They stared at me as if I were a servant asking for higher wages. The
speaker, a fat man with a bristly moustache and a red necktie, drew
himself up haughtily.

"Who the devil are you?" he demanded, fixing me with a glare.

I knew at once that he was the kind of an American I have come to hate
with a zest that knows no moderation; the kind that makes one ashamed
of the national melting pot. I glared back at him.

"I happen to be the owner of this place, and you'll oblige me by
clearing out."

"What's that? Here, here, none of that sort of talk, my friend. We're
here to look over your stuff, and we mean business, but you won't get
anywhere by talking like--"

"There is nothing for sale here," I said shortly. "And you've got a
lot of nerve to come bolting into a private house--"

"Say," said the second man, advancing with a most insulting scowl,
"we'll understand each other right off the reel, my friend. All you've
got to do is to answer us when we ask for prices. Now, bear that in
mind, and don't try any of your high-and-mighty tactics on us."