Mr. Grant gave his partner a quick, significant glance, and then
drew from his desk the voluminous telegram from Swearengen Jones.
It was as follows:

October 2.

GRANT & RIPLEY,

Yucatan Building, New York.

I am to be sole referee in this matter. You are retained as my
agents, heir to report to me through you weekly. One desire of
uncle was to forestall grandfather's bequest. I shall respect that
desire. Enforce terms rigidly. He was my best friend and trusted
me with disposition of all this money. Shall attend to it
sacredly. Heir must get rid of money left to him in given time.
Out of respect to memory of uncle he must take no one into his
confidence. Don't want world to think S. was damned fool. He
wasn't. Here are rules I want him to work under: 1. No reckless
gambling. 2. No idiotic Board of Trade speculation. 3. No
endowments to institutions of any character, because their memory
would be an invisible asset. 4. No indiscriminate giving away of
funds. By that I don't mean him to be stingy. I hate a stingy man
and so did J.T.S. 5. No more than ordinary dissipation. I hate a
saint. So did J.T.S. And both of us sowed an oat or two. 6. No
excessive donations to charity. If he gives as other millionaires
do I'll let it go at that. Don't believe charity should be spoiled
by indulgence. It is not easy to spend a million, and I won't be
unreasonable with him. Let him spend it freely, but not foolishly,