"Hi there—where are you going with that carpet-bag?" cried a gruff voice, as the Unwiseman scurried along the pier, eager to get back home as speedily as possible after the arrival of the steamer at New York.

"Where do you suppose I'm going?" retorted the Unwiseman, pausing in his quick-step march back to the waiting arms of his kitchen-stove. "Doesn't look as if I was walkin' off to sea again, does it?"

"Come back here with that bag," said the man of the gruff voice, a tall man with a shiny black moustache and a blue cap with gold trimmings on his head.

"What, me?" demanded the Unwiseman.

"Yes, you," said the man roughly. "What business have you skipping out like that with a carpet-bag as big as a house under your arm?"

"It's my bag—who's got a better right?" retorted the Unwiseman. "I bought and paid for it with my own money, so why shouldn't I walk off with it?"

"Has it been inspected?" demanded the official.

"It don't need to be—there ain't any germans in it," said the Unwiseman.

"Germans?" laughed the official.

"Yes—Mike robes—you know——" continued the Unwiseman.

"O, you mean germs," said the official. "Well, I didn't say disinfected. I said inspected. You can't lug a bag like that in through here without having it examined, you know. What you got in it?"

The Unwiseman placed his bag on the floor of the pier and sat on it and looked the other coldly in the eye.

"Who are you anyhow?" he asked. "What right have you to ask me such impident questions as, What have I got in this bag?"

"Well in private life my name's Maginnis," said the official, "but down here on this dock I'm Uncle Sam, otherwise the United States of America, that's who."

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The Unwiseman threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"I do not mean to be rude, my dear Mr. Maginnis," he said, "but I really must say Tutt, Tush, Pshaw and Pooh. I may even go so far as to say Pooh-pooh—which is twice as scornful as just plain pooh. You Uncle Sam? You must think I'm as green as apples if you think I'll believe that."

"It is true nevertheless," said the official sternly, "and unless you hand over that bag at once——"

"Well I know better," said the Unwiseman angrily. "Uncle Sam has a red goatee and you've got nothing but a shiny black moustache that looks like a pair of comic eyebrows that have slipped and slid down over your nose. Uncle Sam wears a blue swallow-tail coat with brass buttons on it, and a pair of red and white striped trousers like a peppermint stick, and you've got nothin' but an old pea-jacket and blue flannel pants on, and as for the hat, Uncle Sam wears a yellow beaver with fur on it like a coon-cat, while that thing of yours looks like a last summer's yachtin' cap spruced up with brass. You're a very smart man, Mr. Maginnis, but you can't fool an old traveller like me. I've been to Europe, I have, and I guess I know the difference between a fire-engine and a clothes horse. Uncle Sam indeed!"

"I must inspect the contents of that bag," said the official firmly. "If you resist it will be confiscated."

"I don't know what confiscated means," returned the Unwiseman valiantly, "but any man who goes through this bag of mine goes through me first. I'm sittin' on the lock, Mr. Maginnis, and I don't intend to move—no, not if you try to blast me away. A man's carpet-bag is his castle and don't you forget it."

"What's the matter here?" demanded a policeman, who had overheard the last part of this little quarrel.

"Nothing much," said the Unwiseman. "This gentleman here in the messenger boy's clothes says he's the President o' the United States, Congress, the Supreme Court, and the Army and Navy, all rolled into one, thinking that by so doing he can get hold of my carpet-bag. That's all. Anybody can see by lookin' at him that he ain't even the Department of Agriculture. The United States Government! Really it makes me laugh."

Here the Unwiseman grinned broadly, and the Policeman and the official joined in.

"He's a new kind of a smuggler, officer," said Mr. Maginnis, "or at least he acts like one. I caught him trotting off with that bag under his arm, and he refuses to let me inspect it."

"I ain't a smuggler!" retorted the Unwiseman indignantly.

"You'll have to let him look through the bag, Mister," said the Policeman. "He's a Custom House Inspector and nobody's allowed to take in baggage of any sort that hasn't been inspected."

"Is that the law?" asked the Unwiseman.

"Yep," said the Policeman.

"What's the idea of it?" demanded the Unwiseman.

"Well the United States Government makes people pay a tax on things that are made on the other side," explained the Inspector. "That's the way they make the money to pay the President's salary and the other running expenses of the Government."

"Oh—that's it, eh?" said the Unwiseman. "Well you'd ought to have told me that in the beginning. I didn't know the Government needed money to pay the President. I thought all it had to do was to print all it needed. Of course if the President's got to go without his money unless I help pay, I'll be only too glad to do all I can to make up the amount you're short. He earns every penny of it, and it isn't fair to make him wait for it. About how much do you need to even it up? I've only got four dollars left and I'm afraid I'll have to use a little of it myself, but what's left over you're welcome to, only I'd like the President to know I chipped in. How much does he get anyhow?"

"Seventy-five thousand dollars," said the Inspector.

"And there are 80,000,000 people in the country, ain't there?" asked the Unwiseman.

"About that?" said the Inspector.

"So that really my share comes to—say four and a quarter thousandths of a cent—that it?" demanded the Unwiseman.

"Something like that," laughed the Inspector.

"Well then," said the Unwiseman, taking a copper coin from his pocket, "here's a cent. Can you change it?"

"We don't do business that way," said the Inspector impatiently. "We examine your baggage and tax that—that's all. If you refuse to let us, we confiscate the bag, and fine you anywhere from $100 to $5000. Now what are you going to do?"

"What he says is true," said the Policeman, "and I'd advise you to save trouble by opening up the bag."

"O well of course if you say so I'll do it, but I think it's mighty funny just the same," said the Unwiseman, rising from the carpet-bag and handing it over to the Inspector. "In the first place it's not polite for an entire stranger to go snooping through a gentleman's carpet-bag. In the second place if the Secretary of the Treasury hasn't got enough money on hand when pay-day comes around he ought to state the fact in the newspapers so we citizens can hustle around and raise it for him instead of being held up for it like a highwayman, and in the third place it's very extravagant to employ a man like Mr. Maginnis here for three dollars a week or whatever he gets, just to collect four and a quarter thousandths of a cent. I don't wonder there ain't any money in the treasury if that's the way the Government does business."

So the inspection of the Unwiseman's carpet bag began. The first thing the Inspector found upon opening that wonderful receptacle was "French in Five Lessons."

"What's that?" he asked.

"That's a book," replied the Unwiseman. "It teaches you how to talk French in five easy lessons."

"What did you pay for it?" asked the Inspector.

"I didn't pay anything for it," said the Unwiseman. "I found it."

"What do you think it's worth?" queried the Inspector.

"Nothing," said the Unwiseman. "That is, all the French I got out of it came to about that. It may have been first class looking French, but when I came to use it on French people they didn't seem to recognize it, and it had a habit of fading away and getting lost altogether, so as far as I'm concerned it ain't worth paying duty on. If you're going to tax me for that you can confisticate it and throw it at the first cat you want to scare off your back-yard fence."

"What's this?" asked the Inspector, taking a small tin box out of the bag.

"Ginger-snaps, two bananas and an eclair," said the Unwiseman. "I shan't pay any duty on them because I took 'em away with me when I left home."

"I don't know whether I can let them in duty-free or not," said the Inspector, with a wink at the Policeman.

"Well I'll settle that in a minute," said the Unwiseman, and reaching out for the tin-box in less than two minutes he had eaten its contents. "You can't tax what ain't, can you?" he asked.

"Of course not," said the Inspector.

"Well then those ginger-snaps ain't, and the bananas ain't and the eclair ain't, so there you are," said the Unwiseman triumphantly. "Go on with your search, Uncle Sammy. You haven't got much towards the President's salary yet, have you!"

The Inspector scorned to reply, and after rummaging about in the bag for a few moments, he produced a small box of macaroni.

"I guess we'll tax you on this," he said. "What is it?"

"Bait," said the Unwiseman.

"I call it macaroni," said the Inspector.

"You can call it what you please," said the Unwiseman. "I call it bait—and it's no good. I can dig better bait than all the macaroni in the world in my back yard. I fish for fish and not for Eye-talians, so I don't need that kind. If I can't keep it without paying taxes for it, confisticate it and eat it yourself. I only brought it home as a souvenir of Genoa anyhow."

"I don't want it," said the Inspector.

"Then give it to the policeman," said the Unwiseman. "I tell you right now I wouldn't pay five cents to keep a piece of macaroni nine miles long. Be careful the way you handle that sailor suit of mine. I had it pressed in London and I want to keep the creases in the trousers just right the way the King wears his."

"Where did you buy them?" asked the Inspector, holding the duck trousers up in the air.

"Right here in this town before I stole on board the Digestic," said the Unwiseman.

"American made, are they?" asked the Inspector.

"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "You can tell that by lookin' at 'em. They're regular canvas-back ducks with the maker's name stamped on the buttons."

Closer inspection of the garment proved the truth of the Unwiseman's assertion and the Inspector proceeded.

"Didn't you make any purchases abroad?" he asked. "Clothes or jewels or something?"

"I didn't buy any clothes at all," said the Unwiseman. "I did ask the price of a Duke's suit and a Knight gown, but I didn't buy either of them. You don't have to pay duty on a request for information, do you?"

"You are sure you didn't buy any?" repeated the Inspector.

"Quite sure," said the Unwiseman. "A slight misunderstanding with the King combined with a difference of opinion with his tailor made it unnecessary for me to lay in a stock of royal raiment. And the same thing prevented my buying any jewels. If I'd decided to go into the Duke business I probably should have bought a few diamond rings and a half a dozen tararas to wear when I took breakfast with the roil family, but I gave that all up when I made up my mind to remain a farmer. Tararas and diamond rings kind of get in your way when you're pulling weeds and planting beets, so why should I buy them?"

"How about other things?" asked the Inspector. "You say you've been abroad all summer and haven't bought anything?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort," said the Unwiseman. "I bought a lot of things. In London I bought a ride in a hansom cab, in Paris I bought a ride in a one horse fakir, and in Venice I bought a ride in a Gandyola. I bought a large number of tarts and plates of ice cream in various places. I bought a couple of souvenir postal cards to send to Columbus's little boy. In Switzerland I didn't buy anything because the things I wanted weren't for sale such as pet shammys and Alps and Glaziers and things like that. There's only two things that I can remember that maybe ought to be taxed. One of 'em's an air gun to shoot alps with and the others a big alpen-stock engraved with a red hot iron showing what mountains I didn't climb. The Alpen-stock I used as a fish pole in Venice and lost it because my hook got stuck in an artist's straw hat, but the air gun I brought home with me. You can tax it if you want to, but I warn you if you do I'll give it to you and then you'll have to pay the tax yourself."

Having delivered himself of this long harangue, the Unwiseman, quite out of breath, sat down on Mollie's trunk and waited for new developments. The Inspector apparently did not hear him, or if he did paid no attention. The chances are that the Unwiseman's words never reached his ears, for to tell the truth his head was hidden way down deep in the carpet-bag. It was all of three minutes before he spoke, and then with his face all red with the work he drew his head from the bag and, gasping for air observed, wonderingly:

"I can't find anything else but a lot of old bottles in there. What business are you in anyhow?" he asked. "Bottles and rags?"

"I am a collector," said the Unwiseman, with a great deal of dignity.

"Well—after all I guess we'll have to let you in free," said the Inspector, closing the bag with a snap and scribbling a little mark on it with a piece of chalk to show that it had been examined. "The Government hasn't put any tax on old bottles and junk generally so you're all right. If all importers were like you the United States would have to go out of business."

"Junk indeed!" cried the Unwiseman, jumping up wrathfully. "If you call my bottles junk I'd like to know what you'd say to the British Museum. That's a scrap heap, alongside of this collection of mine, and I don't want you to forget it!"

And gathering his belongings together the Unwiseman in high dudgeon walked off the pier while the Inspector and the Policeman watched him go with smiles on their faces so broad that if they'd been half an inch broader they would have met behind their necks and cut their heads off.

"I never was so insulted in my life," said the Unwiseman, as he told Mollie about it in the carriage going up to the train that was to take them back home. "He called that magnificent collection of mine junk."

"What was there in it?" asked Mollie.

"Wait until we get home and I'll show you," said the Unwiseman. "It's the finest collection of—well just wait and see. I'm going to start a Museum up in my house that will make that British Museum look like cinder in a giant's eye. How did you get through the Custom House?"

"Very nicely," said Mollie. "The man wanted me to pay duty on Whistlebinkie at first, because he thought he was made in Germany, but when he heard him squeak he let him in free."

"I should think so," said the Unwiseman. "There's no German in his squeak. He couldn't get a medium sized German word through his hat. If he could I think he'd drive me crazy. Just open the window will you while I send this wireless message to the President."

"To the President?" cried Mollie.

"Yes—I want him to know I'm home in the first place, and in the second place I want to tell him that the next time he wants to collect his salary from me, I'll take it as a personal favor if he'll come himself and not send Uncle Sam Maginnis after it. I can stand a good deal for my country's sake but when a Custom House inspector prys into my private affairs and then calls them junk just because the President needs a four and a quarter thousandth of a cent, it makes me very, very angry. It's been as much as I could do to keep from saying 'Thunder' ever since I landed, and that ain't the way an American citizen ought to feel when he comes back to his own beautiful land again after three months' absence. It's like celebrating a wanderer's return by hitting him in the face with a boot-jack, and I don't like it."

The window was opened and with much deliberation the Unwiseman despatched his message to the President, announcing his return and protesting against the tyrannous behavior of Mr. Maginnis, the Custom House Inspector, after which the little party continued on their way until they reached their native town. Here they separated, Mollie and Whistlebinkie going to their home and the Unwiseman to the queer little house that he had left in charge of the burglar at the beginning of the summer.

"If I ever go abroad again," said the Unwiseman at parting, "which I never ain't going to do, I'll bring a big Bengal tiger back in my bag that ain't been fed for seven weeks, and then we'll have some fun when Maginnis opens the bag!"