garb, hair, and mustache, sat idly watching him, yet with eyes that
looked so intently that they seemed to listen.

For fully five minutes the two men had been pulling at their cigars in
silence when the millionaire spoke.

"Ned, what am I going to do with my money?"

Into the lawyer's listening eyes flashed, for a moment, the keenly
scrutinizing glance usually reserved for the witness on the other
side. Then quietly came the answer.

"Spend it yourself, I hope--for some years to come, Stanley."

Mr. Stanley G. Fulton was guilty of a shrug and an uplifted eyebrow.

"Thanks. Very pretty, and I appreciate it, of course. But I can't wear
but one suit of clothes at a time, nor eat but one dinner--which, by
the way, just now consists of somebody's health biscuit and hot water.
Twenty millions don't really what you might call melt away at that
rate."

The lawyer frowned.

"Shucks, Fulton!" he expostulated, with an irritable twist of his
hand. "I thought better of you than that. This poor rich man's 'one-
suit, one-dinner, one-bed-at-a-time' hard-luck story doesn't suit your
style. Better cut it out!"

"All right. Cut it is." The man smiled good-humoredly. "But you see I