high hat. In the sunlight it coruscated like one of his wife's
diamonds. "Heaps of money," he repeated. "The mills are still in my
name, he went on, "but five years since I sold them-- We live on
the income. We own Harbor Castle, the finest house on the whole
waterfront."

"When all the windows are lit up," interjected Mrs. Farrell, "it's
often took for a Fall River boat!"

"When I was building it," Farrell continued, smoothly, "they called
it Farrell's Folly; but not NOW." In friendly fashion he winked at
me, "Standard Oil," he explained, "offered half a million for it.
They wanted my wharf for their tank steamers. But, I needed it for
my yacht!"

I must have sat up rather too suddenly, for, seeing the yacht had
reached home, Mr. Farrell beamed. Complacently his wife smoothed an
imaginary wrinkle in her skirt.

"Eighteen men!" she protested, "with nothing to do but clean brass
and eat three meals a day!"

Farrell released his death grip on the silk hat to make a sweeping
gesture.

"They earn their wages," he said generously.

"Aren't they taking us this week to Cap May?"

"They're taking the yacht to Cape May! corrected Mrs. Farrell; "not