overlooked in presenting me as his nephew--but who _did_ ask me to have
a drink.

A month later, he died. He left me a fortune, which was all the more
staggering in view of the circumstance that had seen me named for my
Uncle John and not for him.

It was not long afterward that I made a perfect fool of myself by
falling in love. It turned out very badly. I can't imagine what got
into me to want to commit bigamy after I had already proclaimed myself
to be irrevocably wedded to my profession. Nevertheless, I deliberately
coveted the experience, and would have attained to it no doubt had it
not been for the young woman in the case. She would have none of me,
but with considerable independence of spirit and, I must say, noteworthy
acumen, elected to wed a splendid looking young fellow who clerked in
a jeweller's shop in Fifth Avenue. They had been engaged for several
years, it seems, and my swollen fortune failed to disturb her sense
of fidelity. Perhaps you will be interested enough in a girl who could
refuse to share a fortune of something like three hundred thousand
dollars--(not counting me, of course)--to let me tell you briefly who
and what she was. She was my typist. That is to say, she did piece-work
for me as I happened to provide substance for her active fingers to
work upon when she wasn't typing law briefs in the regular sort of
grind. Not only was she an able typist, but she was an exceedingly
wholesome, handsome and worthy young woman. I think I came to like her
with genuine resolution when I discovered that she could spell correctly
and had the additional knack of uniting my stray infinitives with
stubborn purposefulness, as well as the ability to administer my grammar
with tact and discretion.