"So, I goes to a livery stable and hires a buggy on my looks. I drove out to the Plunkett farm and hitched. There was a man sitting on the front steps of the house. He had on a white flannel suit, a diamond ring, golf cap and a pink ascot tie. 'Summer boarder, says I to myself.

"'I'd like to see Farmer Ezra Plunkett, says I to him.

"'You see him, says he. 'What seems to be on your mind?

"I never answered a word. I stood still, repeating to myself the rollicking lines of that merry jingle, 'The Man with the Hoe. When I looked at this farmer, the little devices I had in my pocket for buncoing the pushed-back brows seemed as hopeless as trying to shake down the Beef Trust with a mittimus and a parlor rifle.

"'Well, says he, looking at me close, 'speak up. I see the left pocket of your coat sags a good deal. Out with the goldbrick first. I'm rather more interested in the bricks than I am in the trick sixty-day notes and the lost silver mine story.

"I had a kind of cerebral sensation of foolishness in my ideas of ratiocination; but I pulled out the little brick and unwrapped my handkerchief off it.

"'One dollar and eighty cents, says the farmer hefting it in his hand. 'Is it a trade?

"'The lead in it is worth more than that, says I, dignified. I put it back in my pocket.

"'All right, says he. 'But I sort of wanted it for the collection I'm starting. I got a $5,000 one last week for $2.10.

"Just then a telephone bell rings in the house.

"'Come in, Bunk, says the farmer, 'and look at my place. It's kind of lonesome here sometimes. I think that's New York calling.