professor crisply, with a side-glance at Bean who seemed on the point of leaving.
"Say, friend, I guess you're forgetting some thing, ain't you?" demanded the Countess archly. And Bean perceived that he had indeed forgotten something. He rectified the oversight with blushing apologies, while the professor inspected the mantel ornaments with an absent air. What was twenty dollars to a king and a sire of kings? He bowed himself from the room.
They listened until the hall door closed.
"There's yours, Ed. You earned it all right, I'll say that. My! don't I wish I was up on that dope."
"You were the wise lady to send for me, Lizzie. You'd have killed him off right here. As it is, he'll come back. He's a clerk somewhere, drawing twenty-five a week or so. He ought to give up at least five of it every week; cigarette money, anyway. Anything loose in the house?"
"They's a couple bottles beer in the icebox. Gee! ain't he good, though! If he only had the roll some has!"
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
In his little room far up under the hunched shoulders of the house, Bunker Bean sat reviewing his Karmic past. Over parts of it he shuddered. That crafty Venetian plotting to kill, trifling wickedly with the inlaid dagger; the brutal Roman, ruling by fear, cutting off heads! And the
