“I never could hold my partner， Andy Tucker， down tolegitimate ethics of pure swindling，” said Jeff Peters to meone day.
“Andy had too much imagination to be honest. He usedto devise schemes of money-getting so fraudulent andhigh-financial that they wouldn’t have been allowed in thebylaws of a railroad rebate system.
“Myself， I never believed in taking any man’s dollarsunless I gave him something for it—something in theway of rolled gold jewelry， garden seeds， lumbago lotion，stock certificates， stove polish or a crack on the head toshow for his money. I guess I must have had New Englandancestors away back and inherited some of their stanchand rugged fear of the police.
“But Andy’s family tree was in different kind. I don’tthink he could have traced his descent any further backthan a corporation.
“One summer while we was in the middle West， workingdown the Ohio valley with a line of family albums，headache powders and roach destroyer， Andy takes one ofhis notions of high and actionable financiering.
“‘Jeff，’ says he， ‘I’ve been thinking that we ought todrop these rutabaga fanciers and give our attention tosomething more nourishing and prolific. If we keep onsnapshooting these hinds for their egg money we’ll beclassed as nature fakers. How about plunging into thefastnesses of the skyscraper country and biting some bigbull caribous in the chest？’
“‘Well，’ says I， ‘you know my idiosyncrasies. I prefer asquare， non-illegal style of business such as we are carryingon now. When I take money I want to leave some tangibleobject in the other fellow’s hands for him to gaze at andto distract his attention from my spoor， even if it’s only aKomical Kuss Trick Finger Ring for Squirting Perfume ina Friend’s Eye. But if you’ve got a fresh idea， Andy，’ says I，‘let’s have a look at it. I’m not so wedded to petty graft thatI would refuse something better in the way of a subsidy.’
“‘I was thinking，’ says Andy， ‘of a little hunt withouthorn， hound or camera among the great herd of theMidas Americanus， commonly known as the Pittsburgmillionaires.’
“‘In New York？’ I asks.
“‘No， sir，’ says Andy， ‘in Pittsburg. That’s their habitat.
They don’t like New York. They go there now and thenjust because it’s expected of ’em.’
“‘A Pittsburg millionaire in New York is like a fly in acup of hot coffee—he attracts attention and comment，but he don’t enjoy it. New York ridicules him for “blowing”
so much money in that town of sneaks and snobs， andsneers. The truth is， he don’t spend anything while he isthere. I saw a memorandum of expenses for a ten daystrip to Bunkum Town made by a Pittsburg man worth15，000，000 once. Here’s the way he set it down：
R. R. fare to and from . . . . . . . . . . 21 00Cab fare to and from hotel . . . . . . . . 2 00Hotel bill @ 5 per day . . . . . . . . . 50 00Tips . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5，750 00Total . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5，823 00“‘That’s the voice of New York，’ goes on Andy. ‘Thetown’s nothing but a head waiter. If you tip it too muchit’ll go and stand by the door and make fun of you to thehat check boy. When a Pittsburger wants to spend moneyand have a good time he stays at home. That’s where we’llgo to catch him.’
“Well， to make a dense story more condensed， me andAndy cached our paris green and antipyrine powders andalbums in a friend’s cellar， and took the trail to Pittsburg.
Andy didn’t have any especial prospectus of chicanery andviolence drawn up， but he always had plenty of confidencethat his immoral nature would rise to any occasion thatpresented itself.
“As a concession to my ideas of self-preservation andrectitude he promised that if I should take an active andincriminating part in any little business venture that wemight work up there should be something actual andcognizant to the senses of touch， sight， taste or smell totransfer to the victim for the money so my consciencemight rest easy. After that I felt better and entered morecheerfully into the foul play.
“‘Andy，’ says I， as we strayed through the smoke alongthe cinderpath they call Smithfield street， ‘had you figuredout how we are going to get acquainted with these cokekings and pig iron squeezers？ Not that I would decry myown worth or system of drawing room deportment， andwork with the olive fork and pie knife，’ says I， ‘but isn’t theentree nous into the salons of the stogie smokers going tobe harder than you imagined？’
“‘If there’s any handicap at all，’ says Andy， ‘it’s our ownrefinement and inherent culture. Pittsburg millionaires area fine body of plain， wholehearted， unassuming， democraticmen.
“‘They are rough but uncivil in their manners， andthough their ways are boisterous and unpolished， under itall they have a great deal of impoliteness and discourtesy.
Nearly every one of ’em rose from obscurity，’ says Andy，‘and they’ll live in it till the town gets to using smokeconsumers. If we act simple and unaffected and don’t gotoo far from the saloons and keep making a noise like animport duty on steel rails we won’t have any trouble inmeeting some of ’em socially.’
“Well Andy and me drifted about town three or fourdays getting our bearings. We got to knowing severalmillionaires by sight.
“One used to stop his automobile in front of our hoteland have a quart of champagne brought out to him. Whenthe waiter opened it he’d turn it up to his mouth anddrink it out of the bottle. That showed he used to be aglassblower before he made his money.
“One evening Andy failed to come to the hotel fordinner. About 11 o’clock he came into my room.
“‘Landed one， Jeff，’ says he. ‘Twelve millions. Oil， rollingmills， real estate and natural gas. He’s a fine man； no airsabout him. Made all his money in the last five years. He’sgot professors posting him up now in education—art andliterature and haberdashery and such things.