_Not a card fell back to the floor. They every one disappeared from view
in the ceiling._ If it had not been for the heavy chair I had rolled in
front of the door, I think I should have fled.
"How's that for a trick?" asked my visitor.
I said nothing, for the very good reason that my words stuck in my throat.
"Give me a little _creme de menthe_, will you, please?" said he, after a
moment's pause.
"I haven't a drop in the house," I said, relieved to think that this
wonderful being could come down to anything so earthly.
"Pshaw, Hiram!" he ejaculated, apparently in disgust. "Don't be mean, and,
above all, don't lie. Why, man, you've got a bottle full of it in your
hand! Do you want it all?"
He was right. Where it came from I do not know; but, beyond question, the
graceful, slim-necked bottle was in my right hand, and my left held a
liqueur-glass of exquisite form.
"Say," I gasped, as soon as I was able to collect my thoughts, "what are
your terms?"
"Wait a moment," he answered.
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