Burlingame saw. "Well, I'll have to ask the old goat myself," he said.
"He's coming here to-day." He took up Orlando Guise's letter from the
table, glanced at it smilingly, and threw it down again. "He must be a
queer specimen," Burlingame continued. "He wouldn't take Orlando Guise's
cheque yesterday. He says he'll only be paid in hard cash. He's coming
here this afternoon to get it. He's a crank, whatever else he is. They
tell me he doesn't keep a bank account. If he gets a cheque, he has it
changed into cash. If he wants to send a cheque away, he buys one for
cash from somebody. He pays for everything in cash, if he can.
Actually, he hasn't a banking account in the place. Cash--nothing
but cash! What do you think of that?"

The Young Doctor nodded: "Cash as a habit is useful. Every man must have
his hobby, I suppose. Considering the crimes tried at the court in this
town, Mazarine's got unusual faith in human nature; or else he feels
himself pretty safe at Tralee."

"Thieves?" asked Burlingame satirically.

"Yes, I believe that's still the name, though judging from some of your
talk in the Court-house, it's a word that gives opportunity to take
cover. I hope your successful client of to-day, and his brothers, are
not familiar with the ways of Mr. Mazarine. I hope they don't know about
this six thousand dollars in cold cash."

A sneering, sour smile came to Burlingame's lips. The medical man's dry
allusions touched him on the raw all too often.

"Oh, of course, I told them all about that six thousand dollars! Of
course! A lot of people suspect those McMahons of being crooked. Well,