oop sdraighd on a horse. Sure, she seen him. Robber unt big killer-sdealer! She vas olt lady, but she remember it lige it was to-morrow."
Excitement engendered by this reminiscence had well-nigh made Bean forget the dog. Once he had made people afraid. The world had trembled before him. Policemen had been as insects.
"I'll take that dog," he announced royally—then faltered—"but I haven't the money now. You keep him for me till I get it."
"Yah, you know vot? A olt man, lige me, say that same ofer lasd mont' ago, unt I nefer see him until yet!"
It was a time for extreme measures. Bean pressed seven dollars upon the dog's owner.
"And ten dollars every week; maybe more!"
The old man stowed the bills in a pocket under his apron and scratched the head of the parrot that was incisively remarking, "Oh! What a fool!" and giggling fatuously at its own jest.
"I guess you giddim. I guess mebbe you lige him, hey! He iss a awful glutton to eat!"
Napoleon!
And in the street car the first headline he saw in his morning paper was, "Young Napoleon of Finance Flutters Wall Street!"
The thing was getting uncanny.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
A Napoleon of Finance!
Something, Napoleonic at least for Bunker
