"Oh, yes!" said Phyllis. "I forgot to tell you, Ethel, that a fortune
has been left to Jack, and he need not work but for the love of it."

I laughed, but they thought it a self-conscious laugh. Somehow I was
not equal to the task of enlightening them.

"It is jolly to be rich," said Ethel, clicking her skates together.
"It's a bother at times, however, to know what to do with the money. I
buy so many things I do not need just because I feel compelled to spend
my allowance."

"It must be very inconvenient," I observed.

"And now that you are a man of leisure," said Phyllis, "you will write
that book you have always been telling me about?"

"Do you wish it?" I asked.

"I do. What I have always found lacking in you is application. You
start out to accomplish something, you find an obstacle in your path
and you do not surmount it; you do not persevere."

My pulse beat quickly. Was there a double meaning to what she said? I
could not tell, for her eyes remained averted.

I sighed. "It would be nice to become a successful author, but when a
man is as rich as I am fame tarnishes." I took out an envelope from my
pocket.

"What is that?" asked Phyllis.