"But it will--if I give it to him. Great Scott, Ned! what money does
for folks, sometimes--folks that aren't used to it! Look at Bixby; and
look at that poor little Marston girl, throwing herself away on that
worthless scamp of a Gowing who's only after her money, as everybody
(but herself) knows! And if it doesn't make knaves and martyrs of
them, ten to one it does make fools of 'em. They're worse than a kid
with a dollar on circus day; and they use just about as much sense
spending their pile, too. You should have heard dad tell about his
pals in the eighties that struck it rich in the gold mines. One bought
up every grocery store in town and instituted a huge free grab-bag for
the populace; and another dropped his hundred thousand in the dice box
before it was a week old. I wonder what those cousins of mine back
East are like!"

"If you're fearful, better take Case number twenty-three thousand
seven hundred and forty-one," smiled the lawyer.

"Hm-m; I suppose so," ejaculated the other grimly, getting to his
feet. "Well, I must be off. It's biscuit time, I see."

A moment later the door of the lawyer's sumptuously appointed office
closed behind him. Not twenty-four hours afterward, however, it opened
to admit him again. He was alert, eager-eyed, and smiling. He looked
ten years younger. Even the office boy who ushered him in cocked a
curious eye at him.

The man at the great flat-topped desk gave a surprised ejaculation.

"Hullo, Fulton! Those biscuits must be agreeing with you," he laughed.
"Mind telling me their name?"