offered even to share with you. Your uncle swore he would leave it all
to the stablemen first. This journey was forced upon me, or I should
not have taken it. This is my advice to you: Accept the check, in the
privacy of your room tear it up, or light a cigar with it; that's about
all it's worth. You will feel no little satisfaction in lighting a
cigar with it, that is, if you are anything like me. Think of it! a
thousand dollars to light your cigar. It is an opportunity not to be
missed. When you grow old you will say to your grandchildren: 'Once I
lit a cigar with a thousand-dollar check.' The oldest inhabitant will
be silenced forever; it may become history. And then, too, if there
are spirits, as Scripture says there are, your uncle's will writhe at
the performance. I trust that you will forgive me my part in the
matter. I have taken a fancy to you, and if you will accept my
friendship I shall be happy to accept yours. Your uncle's revenge will
not be a marker to the restitution his son will make."

"Restitution?--his son?"

"Yes. To my sincere regret he is an invalid who may or may not live
the year out. He has already made a will, in which he leaves all to
you. The will is in my safe at home. I return to-night, so I may not
see you again in this world of sin and tribulation." The merry twinkle
had returned to his eyes. "I am very old."

"It is worth all the trouble to have met you," said I. "You should
have made the jolt very easy."

So we shook hands, and he gave me a cigar, around which was wrapped the
check. He winked. Then he laughed, and I joined him, though my
laughter resembled mirth less than it did the cackle of a hen which was