"I have an adventure--of the first cla.s.s. I desire to dispose of it."

"Yes."

"A n.o.ble, a surpa.s.sing adventure. Moreover, a commercial opening that is not to be despised--fifty per cent on your capital every six months."

"Yes."

"I offer you, then, my well-established business of adjuster of averages, good-will and office fixtures included."

"But I never even heard of such a profession. I know nothing about averages and their adjustment."

"What difference! It is the adventure that particularly concerns you, is it not? The business--pouf! it runs itself." "And the terms?"

"I make them ridiculously easy. You are to take over the business, including the lease of my offices in the Barowsky Brothers' bank building, William H. Seward Square. In return for this accommodation I am prepared to pay you the sum of ten thousand dollars." Mr. Chivers grinned cheerfully as he concluded this astounding proposition. He pulled ten new one-thousand-dollar bills from his waistcoat-pocket and laid them on the table.

Indiman regarded the little man thoughtfully. "You have been in business for your health?" he inquired, with an affectation of polite interest.

"You have hit it exactly," returned the imperturbable Chivers. "I was pretty rocky when I first went to William H. Seward Square. But the air in that Yiddish country--wonderful, dear sir. Regard me; punch, poke, pound where and how you like. Sound as a bell you'll find me. Now I pa.s.s on. I yield place to you. The honor, dear sir, is mine."

"I confess that I am interested," said Indiman. "The conditions are simply--"

"Your personal day and night tenancy of the chambers in the Barowsky Building for a period of not less than three months. I should have explained that the rooms really form a bachelor's suite, all furnished, of course."

"There are papers to sign?"

"Only the a.s.sumption of the office lease, and I'll give you a bill of sale for the furniture." Mr. Chivers laid the doc.u.ments before Indiman; the latter glanced them over and drew out his fountain-pen. A quick look, one of satisfaction and understanding, pa.s.sed between Chivers and Dr. Magnus. I caught it and tried to convey a warning to my friend. But he had already affixed his signature to the lease of the offices in the Barowsky bank building. Chivers did the same for the bill of sale.

Indiman gathered up the ten one-thousand-dollar bills and stuffed them into his pocket. "Want a receipt?" he asked.

"It is not necessary."

"Well, at least, we must have a b.u.mper to celebrate the conclusion of the transaction. Waiter."

We took a cab in the gray of the dawning hour and drove home. As might have been predicted, my spirits had dropped to the zero-point again.

"I don't like it--frankly, I don't, old man. What if it should be a trap?"

Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said.

"That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be.

It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the wherefore."

Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned impatiently.

"Well, what is it?" he asked

"You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?"

It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience thus agreeably stimulated.

"'Scuse me, guv'nor," he went on, "but here's another little job in the same line of business. I drove a gentleman to your club early in the evening, and he must have left it accidental in the cab. Maybe you know him."

It was a plain white envelope bearing the typewritten address:

Mr. Orrin Chivers, Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers, Seward Square, New York.

The envelope had been opened, but the enclosure still remained in it.

"Thank you," said Indiman. "I'll take charge of it." The cabman touched his hat and drove away.

We went up to the library and proceeded to examine the treasure trove.

It consisted of a long strip of thin bluish paper less than a quarter of an inch in width and containing a succession of apparently arbitrary and unmeaning characters written in ink. I reproduce a section of the strip, which should make my description more intelligible.

Indiman looked at the hieroglyphics musingly. "Important--if true," he murmured.

XII

The Adjuster of Averages

It was on December 21st that Indiman took up his tenancy of the offices in the Barowsky Building. I should have been glad to have accompanied him, but he would not have it. It was the dealer's hand at bridge and must be played alone. And owing to the accident of a slight attack of grippe it was some ten days later before I was able to call upon him in his new quarters.

William H. Seward Square has its unique features. Lying in the heart of the East Side, it is outside the regular lines of north and south travel. There are thousands of otherwise well-informed New-Yorkers to whom its very name is unknown. And yet it is an important political centre, the capital of the Yiddish country, and the recipient of many special favors at the hands of a paternal munic.i.p.ality. There are still streets in the up-town districts whose pavement is the antiquated Belgian blocks or even cobble-stones, but none in Yiddishland; here everything is asphalted. You may trust the district leader to take care of his own.

A fine, stone building forms the princ.i.p.al architectural feature of the square on the west side. It contains the free baths and would be a credit to any part of the city. Most of the remaining s.p.a.ce is given over to the children for a playground. There is a semi-enclosed gymnasium for the boys, hand-ball and tether-ball courts, a separate enclosure for the girls and smaller children--in a word, every form of amus.e.m.e.nt and exercise that is practicable in a public inst.i.tution of comparatively limited area. The children enjoy it, too. They come in droves, and the swings and flying rings are in constant use.

It is like going to a foreign country. The shop signs, written in Hebrew characters, suggest a combination of horseshoes and carpet-tacks, and you may walk for blocks without hearing an English word spoken. Ask your whereabouts of a street boy and he will quite likely turn pale and edge away. He does not understand. You are an alien, a foreign devil.

The Barowsky Brothers' bank building is the show-place of the district.

It is a staring white structure covered with gilt business signs and adorned with abortive minarets that give it an air distinctly Oriental.

The entrance hall and the banking-rooms are sumptuous. They recall the Arabian Nights and the word-painting of a circus poster. Mirrors, gilding, mosaics--it is all a dream of luxury and impresses one with a realizing sense of the financial standing of the Barowsky Brothers. You must have a good front in the Yiddish country if you expect to handle other people's money.

Esper Indiman, adjuster of averages, occupied a suite of rooms on the fifth floor. I proceeded thither and found him in. We sat down and smoked amicably.

"How is business?" I asked. "Have you adjusted many averages to-day?

And, by-the-way, I'm rather taken with the t.i.tle of your new trade.

'Adjuster of averages'--there's an imposing note of omnipotence in the words."

"It's a perfectly legitimate occupation. You'll find it listed in the business directory."

"Of course, and never mind the details. I'm satisfied with its face value, a brevet of vice-gerency. G.o.d knows there are plenty of averages to be adjusted in this weary old world."

"Well, I may have some accounts to balance before I take down my sign,"

said Indiman, with a grim little smile. "I'm glad you came in to-day, Thorp; I've been wanting to have a talk with you."

"Fire away," I answered, flippantly.