"
Excitement engendered by this reminiscence had well-nigh made Bean
forget the dog. Once he had made people afraid. The world had trembled
before him. Policemen had been as insects.
"I'll take that dog," he announced royally--then faltered--"but I
haven't the money now. You keep him for me till I get it."
"Yah, you know vot? A olt man, lige me, say that same ofer lasd mont'
ago, unt I nefer see him until yet!"
It was a time for extreme measures. Bean pressed seven dollars upon the
dog's owner.
"And ten dollars every week; maybe more!"
The old man stowed the bills in a pocket under his apron and scratched
the head of the parrot that was incisively remarking, "Oh! What a fool!"
and giggling fatuously at its own jest.
"I guess you giddim. I guess mebbe you lige him, hey! He iss a awful
glutton to eat!"
Napoleon!
And in the street car the first headline he saw in his morning paper
was, "Young Napoleon of Finance Flutters Wall Street!"
The thing was getting uncanny.
* * * * *
[Illustration: It was a friendly young face he saw there, but troubled]
A Napoleon of Finance!
Something, Napoleonic at least for Bunker Bean, had to be done in
finance immediately. He had reached the office penniless. He first tried
Bulger, who owed him ten dollars. But this was a Waterloo.
"Too bad, old top!" sympathized Bulger. "If you'd only sejested it
yesterday.
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