Ready at this singular innovation knew no bounds; but the boldness
and novelty of the idea carried everything before it. Judge Butts,
the oracle of Rough-and-Ready, delivered its decision: "He's got a
man who's physically incapable of running off with his money, and
has no memory to run off with his ideas. How could he do better?"
Even his own son, Harry, coming upon his father thus installed, was
for a moment struck with a certain filial respect, and for a day or
two patronized him.

In this capacity Slinn became the confidant not only of Mulrady's
business secrets, but of his domestic affairs. He knew that young
Mulrady, from a freckle-faced slow country boy, had developed into
a freckle-faced fast city man, with coarse habits of drink and
gambling. It was through the old man's hands that extravagant
bills and shameful claims passed on their way to be cashed by
Mulrady; it was he that at last laid before the father one day his
signature perfectly forged by the son.

"Your eyes are not ez good ez mine, you know, Slinn," said Mulrady,
gravely. "It's all right. I sometimes make my Y's like that. I'd
clean forgot to cash that check. You must not think you've got the
monopoly of disremembering," he added, with a faint laugh.

Equally through Slinn's hands passed the record of the lavish
expenditure of Mrs. Mulrady and the fair Mamie, as well as the
chronicle of their movements and fashionable triumphs. As Mulrady
had already noticed that Slinn had no confidence with his own
family, he did not try to withhold from them these domestic
details, possibly as an offset to the dreary catalogue of his son's
misdeeds, but more often in the hope of gaining from the taciturn