"Yup. Well, it reminds me of a picture I saw once in one of the comic
papers. An old feller from the backwoods somewheres--good deal like me,
he was, and just about as green--was pictured standin' along with
his city nephew in the gallery of the Exchange. And the nephew says,
'Uncle,' says he, 'do you realize that a seat down there's wuth
seventy-five thousand dollars?' 'Gosh!' says the old man, 'no wonder
most of 'em are standin' up.' Ho! ho! Is that seat of 'Bije's part of
the five hundred thousand you figger he's left?"

"Yes, in a way it is. To be truthful, Captain Warren, we're not sure as
to the amount of your brother's tangible assets. Graves made a hurried
examination of the stocks, bonds, and memoranda, and estimated the
total, that's all."

"I see. Well, heave ahead."

The lawyer went on. The dead broker's office had been on Broad Street.
A small office, with but two clerks. One of the clerks was retained,
and the office, having been leased for a year by its former tenant,
was still open pending the settlement of the estate. A. Rodgers Warren
personally was a man who looked older than he really was, a good liver,
and popular among his companions.

"What sort of fellers were his companions?" asked Captain Elisha.

"You mean his friends in society, or his companions down town in Wall
Street?"

"The Wall Street ones. I guess I can find out something about the
society ones. Anyhow, I can try. These Wall Streeters that 'Bije chummed