"Very well. Give that boy a dollar. Maybe he never read Walton, and
that's why he's so ignorant."

Colonel Ashley settled back in his chair, and, with unfurrowed brow,
read on:

". . . you shall see or hear him leap at flies, then if you get a
grasshopper, put it on your hook with your line about two yards long,
standing behind a bush or tree where his hole is--"

Once more the colonel was happy.

Shag sought out the discomfited newsboy, and, chuckling as had his
master, handed the lad a dollar.

"Say, what's this for?" questioned the lad, in astonishment.

"Colonel done say to give it to you fo' hurtin' yo' feelin's."

"He did! Great! Say, does he want a book--a, paper? Say, I got a
swell detective story--"

The boy started out of the compartment.

"Oh, mah good Lord! Fo' th' love of honey cakes, don't!" gasped Shag,
grabbing him just in time. "Does yo' know who the colonel is?"

"No, but he's mighty white if he wants to buy a dollar's worth of books
and papers. I haven't sold much on this trip, but if he--"

"But he don't want to, boy! Don't you understan'? Jes' listen to me
right now! De colonel don't want nothin' but Walton an' his angle
worms!"

"Who's Walton? What road's he travel on?"

"He don't travel. He's daid, I reckon. But he done writ a book on
fishin' poles, an' dat's all the colonel reads when he ain't workin'
much. It's a book 'bout angle worms as neah as I kin make out."

"You mean Izaak Walton's Complete Angler, I guess," said a man, who
passed by just then on his way to the smoking compartment, and he
smiled genially at Shag.

"Dat's it, yes, sah! I knowed it had suffin t' do wif angle worms.
Well, boy, dat book's all de colonel ever reads when he's vacationin',
an' dat's whut he's doin' now--jest vacationin'.

"When we start away dis mawnin' he say to me, the colonel did: 'Now,
Shag, I don't want t' be boddered wif nuffin'. I don't want t' read no
papers. I don't want t' heah 'bout no battles, murder an' sudden
deaths. I jest wants peace an' quiet an' fish!' He done come up heah
t' go fishin' laik he go t' lots other places, though he ain't been
heah fo' good many years. An' boy, he specially tell me _not_ t' let
him be boddered wif book agents."

"I ain't a book agent," objected the train-boy.

"I knows you ain't," admitted Shag. "I knows yo' ain't, but yo' sells
books, an' dat's whut's de trouble. Whut kind of a book did yo' offer
de colonel jest now?"

"A detective story. And say! it's a swell one, let me tell you!"

"Oh, mah good Lord!" ejaculated Shag. "Dat's de wustest ever!" and he
doubled up with silent mirth.

"Why, what's the matter with that?" asked the boy. "I've seen heaps of
men read detective stories. Judge Dolan--he rides on my train a
lot--and he's always askin' what I got new in detective stuff."

"Um, yep! Well, dat may be all right fo' Judge Dolan," went on Shag,
slowly recovering from his fit of chuckling, "but mah marster don't
want none of dat kind of readin'."

"Why?" asked the boy.

Shag's answer was given in a peculiar manner. He looked around
carefully, and saw that the strange man had moved on and they were
alone. Then, leaning toward the newsboy and whispering, the negro said:

"My marster, Colonel Brentnall--dat ain't his real name, but it's de
one he goes by sometimes--he don't care fo' no detective stories 'cause
he done make his livin' an' mine too, at detectin'. He says he don't
ever want t' read 'em, 'cause dey ain't at all like whut happens. De
colonel was one of de biggest private detectives in de United States,
boy! He's sorter retired now, but still he's chock full of crimes,
murder an' stuff laik dat, an' dat's why he done sent yo' away sorter
rough-laik."

"You say he's a private detective?" asked the boy, his eyes opening
wide.

"Dat's whut he is."

"And his name is Colonel Brentnall?"

"Well, honey, dat ain't his real name. He don't laik t' use dat
promiscuious laik, 'cause so many folks bodder him. If I was t' tell


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