forty-five," Aunt Clarissa had written. "Heaven knows, I am afraid
even THAT is too young for a child such as he is in everything except
pyramids."

Cousin Gussie, now the dignified and highly respected senior partner
of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, took charge of the Bute--now the
Bangs--property. There was not as much of it as most people had
supposed; since Uncle Joshua passed on certain investments had gone
wrong, but there was income enough to furnish any mortal of ordinary
tastes with the means of gratifying them and still have a substantial
residue left. Galusha understood this, in a vague sort of way, but he
did not care. Outside of his beloved profession he had no tastes and
no desires. Life for him was, as Cousin Gussie unfeelingly put it, "one
damned mummy after the other." In fact, after the arrival of the first
installment of income, he traveled posthaste to the office of his Boston
relative and entered a protest.

"You--you mustn't send any more, really you mustn't," he declared,
anxiously. "I don't know what to do with it."

"DO with it? Do with the money, you mean?"

"Yes--yes, that's it."

"But don't you need it to live on?"

"Oh, dear me, no!"

"What DO you live on?"