call it off, you know."

"No, I do' wanta do that," said the other with contorted face.
"I'll get the five hundred here for' you in an hour."

"And about the five thousand dollars reward? I think I'd better
have a word of writing on that."

"You mean you don't trust me?" snapped the other. "I'm good for
five million dollars to-morrow in this town."

"I know you are--in writing," agreed the other equably. "That's why
I want your valued signature. You see, to be quite frank, I haven't
the fullest confidence in gentlemen in your line of business."

"I'll have my lawyer draw up a form of contract and mail it after
you to-morrow," promised the quack with a crafty look.

"No, you wo--" began Average Jones; but he broke off with a smile.
"Very well," he amended. "If things work out as I figure them, that
will do. And," he added, dropping into his significant drawl and
looking the quack flatly in the eye, "don't you--er--bank on
my--er--not understanding your offer--and--er--you."

Uncomfortably pondering this reply, Doctor Hoff set about the matter
of the expense money. Mean time a telegram came which settled the
matter of immediate destination. It apprised Average Jones that, a
fortnight previous, this paragraph had appeared in the paid columns
of the Yuma Yucca: