He could not keep his mind from dwelling on the subject. Even the fact
that--commercially--there was no need for him to think of such things
could not restrain him. He was rich now, and could afford to be
honest. He tried to keep that fact steadily before him, but instinct
was too powerful. His operations in the old days had never been
conducted purely with an eye to financial profit. He had collected
gems almost as much for what they were as for what they could bring.
Many a time had the faithful Spike bewailed the flaw in an otherwise
admirable character, which had induced his leader to keep a portion of
the spoil instead of converting it at once into good dollar bills. It
had had to go sooner or later, but Jimmy had always clung to it as
long as possible. To Spike a diamond brooch of cunning workmanship was
merely the equivalent of so many "plunks". That a man, otherwise more
than sane, should value a jewel for its own sake was to him an
inexplicable thing.

Jimmy was still deep in thought when the train, which had been taking
itself less seriously for the last half hour, stopping at stations of
quite minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle,
halted again. A board with the legend "Corven" in large letters showed
that they had reached their destination.

"Here we are," said Spennie. "Hop out. Now what's the betting that
there isn't room for all of us in the bubble?"

From farther down the train a lady and gentleman emerged.

"That's the man. Is that your uncle?" said Jimmy.

"Guilty," said Spennie gloomily. "I suppose we'd better go and tackle