go to the devil, with my compliments as well as Uncle Joe's. Come
along, Mary! Let's get out of this. We've got fifteen million dollars
coming to us, and we don't have to sit here and be insulted by people
to whom we have offered charity. Good day, Mr. Sigsbee. If you want me
for anything, you'll find me at the bank. Now, be sure you wrap your
throat up carefully, Mary. Don't take any chances. You look as though
you were overheated."

Mr. Sigsbee followed them into the corridor, where he shook hands with
the indignant heir.

"Your troubles have just begun, Mr. Bingle," he said, with a genial
smile.

"How's that?"

"We'll have a long, bitter fight on our hands, but--we'll win. There
will be a contest, you see."

"All right," said Mr. Bingle, his eyes snapping. "I'm ready. I stood
by Uncle Joe when he was alive, you can bet your last dollar I'm not
going back on him now that he's dead."

That evening, sitting over the crackling grate fire, Mr. Bingle broke
a long period of silence by remarking to his wife:

"I dare say we can afford to adopt one or two, Mary, with all this
money we're going to have."