ingham, vice-president of the Sunrise & Edenville Tap Railroad.”
“Otherwise the King of Morocco,” says I. “I reckon you don’t mind my counting the ransom, just as a business formality.”
“Well, no, not exactly,” says the fat man, “not when it comes. I turned that matter over to our second vice-president. I was anxious after Brother Jackson’s safetiness. I reckon he’ll be along right soon. What does that lobster salad you mentioned taste like, Brother Jackson?”
“Mr. Vice-President,” says I, “you’ll oblige us by remaining here till the second V. P. arrives. This is a private rehearsal, and we don’t want any roadside speculators selling tickets.”
In half an hour Caligula sings out again:
“Sail ho! Looks like an apron on a broomstick.”
I perambulated down the cliff again, and escorted up a man six foot three, with a sandy, beard and no other dimensions that you could notice. Thinks I to myself, if he’s got ten thousand dollars on his person it’s in one bill and folded lengthwise.
“Mr. Patterson G. Coble, our second vice-president,” announces the colonel.
“Glad to know you, gentlemen,” says this Coble. “I came up to disseminate the tidings that Major
214
