Mr. Paret. My regards to Mr. Watling, when you go back.

"Alf," demanded the Colonel, "what do you know of this fellow Krebs?"

Mr. Young laughed. Krebs was "nutty," he declared--that was all there was
to it.

"Won't he--listen to reason?"

"It's been tried, Colonel. Say, he wouldn't know a hundred-dollar bill if
you showed him one."

"What does he want?"

"Oh, something,--that's sure, they all want something." Mr. Young
shrugged his shoulder expressively, and by a skillful manipulation of his
lips shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without
raising his hands. "But it ain't money. I guess he's got a notion that
later on the labour unions'll send him to the United States Senate some
day. He's no slouch, either, when it comes to law. I can tell you that."

"No--no flaw in his--record?" Colonel Varney's agate eyes sought those of
Mr. Young, meaningly.

"That's been tried, too," declared the Galesburg attorney. "Say, you can
believe it or not, but we've never dug anything up so far. He's been too
slick for us, I guess."

"Well," exclaimed the Colonel, at length, "let him squeal and be d--d! He
can't do any more than make a noise. Only I hoped we'd be able to grease