“I’m very sorry，” said Richard， as he resumed his seat，“but it looks as if we are stuck. They won’t get this jumbleloosened up in an hour. It was my fault. If I hadn’t droppedthe ring we—”
“Let me see the ring，” said Miss Lantry. “Now that it can’tbe helped， I don’t care. I think theatres are stupid， anyway.”
At 11 o’clock that night somebody tapped lightly onAnthony Rockwall’s door.
“Come in，” shouted Anthony， who was in a red dressinggown，reading a book of piratical adventures.
Somebody was Aunt Ellen， looking like a grey-hairedangel that had been left on earth by mistake.
“They’re engaged， Anthony，” she said， softly. “She haspromised to marry our Richard. On their way to thetheatre there was a street blockade， and it was two hoursbefore their cab could get out of it.
“And oh， brother Anthony， don’t ever boast of the powerof money again. A little emblem of true love—a little ringthat symbolised unending and unmercenary affection—wasthe cause of our Richard finding his happiness. He droppedit in the street， and got out to recover it. And before theycould continue the blockade occurred. He spoke to his loveand won her there while the cab was hemmed in. Money isdross compared with true love， Anthony.”
“All right，” said old Anthony. “I’m glad the boy has gotwhat he wanted. I told him I wouldn’t spare any expensein the matter if—”
“But， brother Anthony， what good could your moneyhave done？”
“Sister，” said Anthony Rockwall. “I’ve got my pirate in adevil of a scrape. His ship has just been scuttled， and he’stoo good a judge of the value of money to let drown. Iwish you would let me go on with this chapter.”
The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily asyou who read it wish it did. But we must go to the bottomof the well for truth.
The next day a person with red hands and a blue polkadotnecktie， who called himself Kelly， called at AnthonyRockwall’s house， and was at once received in the library.
“Well，” said Anthony， reaching for his chequebook， “it wasa good bilin’ of soap. Let’s see—you had 5，000 in cash.”
“I paid out 300 more of my own，” said Kelly. “I had togo a little above the estimate. I got the express wagonsand cabs mostly for 5； but the trucks and two-horseteams mostly raised me to 10. The motormen wanted10， and some of the loaded teams 20. The cops struckme hardest—50 I paid two， and the rest 20 and 25. Butdidn’t it work beautiful， Mr. Rockwall？ I’m glad William A.
Brady wasn’t onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene.
I wouldn’t want William to break his heart with jealousy.
And never a rehearsal， either！ The boys was on time to thefraction of a second. It was two hours before a snake couldget below Greeley’s statue.”
“Thirteen hundred—there you are， Kelly，” said Anthony，tearing off a check. “Your thousand， and the 300 youwere out. You don’t despise money， do you， Kelly？”
“Me？” said Kelly. “I can lick the man that inventedpoverty.”
Anthony called Kelly when he was at the door.
“You didn’t notice，” said he， “anywhere in the tie-up， akind of a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrowsaround with a bow， did you？”
“Why， no，” said Kelly， mystified. “I didn’t. If he was likeyou say， maybe the cops pinched him before I got there.”
“I thought the little rascal wouldn’t be on hand，”
chuckled Anthony. “Good-by， Kelly.”
