reading-lamp. In front of him was a pile of gold.

"What are you doing?" said Hezekiah.

"I am counting my money," said the man.

"What are you?" asked Hezekiah sternly.

"I am a philanthropist," said the man. "I give my money to
deserving objects. I establish medals for heroes. I give
prizes for ship captains who jump into the sea, and for firemen
who throw people from the windows of upper stories at the risk
of their own; I send American missionaries to China, Chinese
missionaries to India, and Indian missionaries to Chicago. I
set aside money to keep college professors from starving to
death when they deserve it."

"Stop!" said Hezekiah, "you deserve to die. Stand up. Open
your mouth and shut your eyes."

The old man stood up.

There was a loud report. The philanthropist fell. He was shot
through the waistcoat and his suspenders were cut to ribbons.

Hezekiah, his eyes glittering with the mania of crime, crammed
his pockets with gold pieces.

There was a roar and hubbub in the street below.