from the old home, I would have been disappointed. Tim was
sitting with his back to the door reading an old magazine. When
we entered he glanced over his shoulder.

"Ah, Case," said he, and went on reading. After a moment he said
without looking up, "Sit down."

The little man took it calmly, deposited himself in a chair and
his bag between his feet, and looked about him daintily at our
rough quarters. I made a move to go, whereupon Tim laid down his
magazine, yawned, stretched his arms over his head, and sighed.

"Don't go, Harry," he begged. "Well, Case," he addressed the
barrister, "what is it this time? Must be something devilish
important to bring you--how many thousand miles is it--into such
a country as this."

"It is important, Mr. Clare," stated the lawyer in his dry
sing-song tones; "but my journey might have been avoided had you
paid some attention to my letters."

"Letters!" repeated Tim, opening his eyes. "My dear chap, I've
had no letters."

"Addressed as usual to your New York bankers."

Tim laughed softly. "Where they are, with my last two quarters'
allowance. I especially instructed them to send me no mail. One
spends no money in this country." He paused, pulling his
moustache. "I'm truly sorry you had to come so far," he