“Well， it is just as I have been telling you， Mr. SherlockHolmes，” said Jabez Wilson， mopping his forehead； “I have a smallpawnbroker’s business at Coburg Square， near the City. It’s not avery large affair， and of late years it has not done more than justgive me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants， but nowI only keep one； and I would have a job to pay him but that he iswilling to come for half wages so as to learn the business.”
“What is the name of this obliging youth？” asked SherlockHolmes.
“His name is Vincent Spaulding， and he’s not such a youth，either. It’s hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarterassistant， Mr. Holmes； and I know very well that he could betterhimself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But， after all， ifhe is satisfied， why should I put ideas in his head？”
“Why， indeed？ You seem most fortunate in having an employeewho comes under the full market price. It is not a commonexperience among employers in this age. I don’t know that yourassistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement.”
“Oh， he has his faults， too，” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was sucha fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when heought to be improving his mind， and then diving down into thecellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is hismain fault， but on the whole he’s a good worker. There’s no vice inhim.”
“He is still with you， I presume？”
“Yes， sir. He and a girl of fourteen， who does a bit of simplecooking and keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house，for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very quietly，sir， the three of us； and we keep a roof over our heads and pay ourdebts， if we do nothing more.
“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding，he came down into the office just this day eight weeks， with this verypaper in his hand， and he says：
“ ‘I wish to the Lord， Mr. Wilson， that I was a red-headed man.’
“ ‘Why that？’ I asks.
“ ‘Why，’ says he， ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of theRed-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man whogets it， and I understand that there are more vacancies than thereare men， so that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do withthe money. If my hair would only change colour， here’s a nice littlecrib all ready for me to step into.’
“ ‘Why， what is it， then？’ I asked. You see， Mr. Holmes， I am avery stay-at-home man， and as my business came to me instead ofmy having to go to it， I was often weeks on end without puttingmy foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn’t know much ofwhat was going on outside， and I was always glad of a bit of news.
“ ‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men？’
he asked with his eyes open.
“ ‘Never.’
“ ‘Why， I wonder at that， for you are eligible yourself for one ofthe vacancies.’
“ ‘And what are they worth？’ I asked.
“ ‘Oh， merely a couple of hundred a year， but the work is slight，and it need not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’
“Well， you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears，for the business has not been over-good for some years， and anextra couple of hundred would have been very handy.
“ ‘Tell me all about it，’ said I.
“ ‘Well，’ said he， showing me the advertisement， ‘you can see foryourself that the League has a vacancy， and there is the addresswhere you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out，the League was founded by an American millionaire， EzekiahHopkins， who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself redheaded，and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men； so，when he died， it was found that he had left his enormous fortunein the hands of trustees， with instructions to apply the interest tothe providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that colour.
From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.’
“ ‘But，’ said I， ‘there would be millions of red-headed men whowould apply.’
“ ‘Not so many as you might think，’ he answered. ‘You see it isreally confined to Londoners， and to grown men. This Americanhad started from London when he was young， and he wanted todo the old town a good turn. Then， again， I have heard it is nouse your applying if your hair is light red， or dark red， or anythingbut real bright， blazing， fiery red. Now， if you cared to apply， Mr.
Wilson， you would just walk in； but perhaps it would hardly beworth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of afew hundred pounds.’
“Now， it is a fact， gentlemen， as you may see for yourselves， thatmy hair is of a very full and rich tint， so that it seemed to me thatif there was to be any competition in the matter I stood as good achance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemedto know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful， soI just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to comeright away with me. He was very willing to have a holiday， so weshut the business up and started off for the address that was givenus in the advertisement.
“I never hope to see such a sight as that again， Mr. Holmes.
From north， south， east， and west every man who had a shadeof red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer theadvertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk， andPope’s Court looked like a coster’s orange barrow. I should nothave thought there were so many in the whole country as werebrought together by that single advertisement. Every shade ofcolour they were—straw， lemon， orange， brick， Irish-setter， liver，clay； but， as Spaulding said， there were not many who had the realvivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting， Iwould have given it up in despair； but Spaulding would not hearof it. How he did it I could not imagine， but he pushed and pulledand butted until he got me through the crowd， and right up to thesteps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon thestair， some going up in hope， and some coming back dejected； butwe wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in theoffice.”