“’Ims nice mans; ’ims let Bil-lee play wif ’ims watch!”

As Billie had broken the watch his acknowledgment of The Hopper’s courtesy in letting him play with it brought a grin to The Hopper’s face.

Now that Billie had been returned and his absence satisfactorily accounted for, the two connoisseurs showed signs of renewing their quarrel.  Responsive to a demand from Billie, The Hopper got down on the floor to assist in the proper mating of Noah’s animals.  Billie’s father was scrutinizing him fixedly and The Hopper wondered whether Muriel’s handsome young husband had recognized him as the person who had vanished through the window of the Talbot home bearing the plum-blossom vase.  The thought was disquieting; but feigning deep interest in the Ark he listened attentively to a violent tirade upon which the senior Talbot was launched.

“My God!” he cried bitterly, planting himself before Wilton in a belligerent attitude, “every infernal thing that can happen to a man happened to me yesterday.  It wasn’t enough that you robbed me and tried to murder me—­yes, you did, sir!—­but when I was in the city I was robbed in the subway by a pickpocket.  A thief took my bill-book containing invaluable data I had just received from my agent in China giving me a clue to porcelains, sir, such as you never dreamed of!  Some more of your work—­Don’t you contradict me!  You don’t contradict me!  Roger, he doesn’t contradict me!”

Wilton, choking with indignation at this new onslaught, was unable to contradict him.

Pained by the situation, The Hopper rose from the floor and coughed timidly.

“Shaver, go fetch yer chickies.  Bring yer chickies in an’ put ’em on th’ boat.”

Billie obediently trotted off toward the kitchen and The Hopper turned his back upon the Christmas tree, drew out the pocket-book and faced the company.

“I beg yer pardon, gents, but mebbe this is th’ book yer fightin’ about.  Kind o’ funny like!  I picked ut up on th’ local yistiddy afternoon.  I wuz goin’ t’ turn ut int’ th’ agint, but I clean fergot ut.  I guess them papers may be valible.  I never touched none of ’em.”

Talbot snatched the bill-book and hastily examined the contents.  His brow relaxed and he was grumbling something about a reward when Billie reappeared, laboriously dragging two baskets.

“Bil-lee’s dot chick-ees!  Bil-lee’s dot pitty dishes.  Bil-lee make dishes go ’ippity!”

Before he could make the two jars go ’ippity, The Hopper leaped across the room and seized the basket.  He tore off the towel with which he had carefully covered the stolen pottery and disclosed the contents for inspection.

“’Scuse me, gents; no crowdin’,” he warned as the connoisseurs sprang toward him.  He placed the porcelains carefully on the floor under the Christmas tree.  “Now ye kin listen t’ me, gents.  I reckon I’m goin’ t’ have somethin’ t’ say about this here crockery.  I stole ’em—­I stole ’em fer th’ lady there, she thinkin’ ef ye didn’t have ’em no more ye’d stop rowin’ about ’em.  Ye kin call th’ bulls an’ turn me over ef ye likes; but I ain’t goin’ t’ have ye fussin’ an’ causin’ th’ lady trouble no more.  I ain’t goin’ to stand fer ut!”