Spiggoties, Latin-Americans and all the rest of the cattle. Why,
sir, they don't think like we think, or reason, or act. Even their
multiplication table is different. You think seven times seven is
forty-nine; but not them. They work it out different. And white
isn't white to them, either. Let me give you an example. Buying
coffee retail for house-keeping in one-pound or ten-pound lots--"

"How big was that nugget you referred to?" I queried firmly. "As
big as the biggest of those?"

"Bigger," he said quietly. "Bigger than the whole blamed exhibit
of them put together, and then some." He paused and regarded me
with a steadfast gaze. "I don't see no reason why I shouldn't go
into the matter with you. You've got a reputation a man ought to
be able to trust, and I've read you've done some tall skylarking
yourself in out-of-the-way places. I've been browsing around with
an eye open for some one to go in with me on the proposition."

"You can trust me," I said.

And here I am, blazing out into print with the whole story just as
he told it to me as we sat on a bench by the lagoon before the
Palace of Fine Arts with the cries of the sea gulls in our ears.
Well, he should have kept his appointment with me. But I
anticipate.

As we started to leave the building and hunt for a seat, a small
woman, possibly thirty years of age, with a washed-out complexion
of the farmer's wife sort, darted up to him in a bird-like way, for
all the world like the darting veering gulls over our heads and