"Very fine, indeed. Major Calvert has no children, and, as I say, the
nephew will be his heir--if found. Also the lawyer who discovers the
absent youth will receive ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars is
not a sum to be sneezed at, Mr. Good. Not to be sneezed at, sir. Not to
be sneezed at," thundered the eminent lawyer forensically.

Garrison agreed. He would never think of sneezing at it, even if he was
subject to that form of recreation. But what had that to do with him?

The eminent lawyer attentively scrutinized the blue streamer from his
cigar.

"Well, I've found him at last. You are he, Mr. Good. Mr. Good, my
heartiest congratulations, sir." And Mr. Snark insisted upon shaking the
bewildered Garrison impressively by the hand.

Garrison's head swam. Then his wild dream had come true! His identity
had been at last discovered! He was not the offspring of some criminal,
but the scion of a noble Virginia house! But Mr. Snark was talking
again.

"You see," he began slowly, focusing an attentive eye on Garrison's
face, noting its every light and shade, "this nice old gentleman and his
wife are hard up for a nephew. You and I are hard up for money. Why not
effect a combination? Eh, why not? It would be sinful to waste such
an opportunity of doing good. In you I give them a nice, respectable
nephew, who is tired of reaping his wild oats. You are probably much
better than the original. We are all satisfied. I do everybody a good
turn by the exercise of a little judgment."