"Oh, well ..." Duncan smiled a trace sheepishly. "I can't think of
anything hardly I wouldn't do to get it."

"Very well, my son. Now attend to uncle." Kellogg leaned across the
table, fixing him with an enthusiastic eye. "Here, have a smoke. I'm
going to demonstrate high finance to your debased intelligence." He
thrust the cigarette case over to Duncan, who helped himself
mechanically, his gaze held in wonder to Kellogg's face.

"Fire when ready," he assented.

"I know a way," said Kellogg slowly, "by which, if you'll discard a
scruple or two, you can be worth a million dollars--or
thereabouts--within a year."

Duncan held a lighted match until it singed his fingertips, the while
he stared agape. "Say that again," he requested mildly.

"You can be worth a million in a year."

"Ah!" Duncan nodded slowly and comprehendingly. He turned aside in his
chair and raked a second match across the sole of his shoe. "Let him
rave," he observed enigmatically, and began to smoke.
"No, I'm not dippy; and I'm perfectly serious."

"Of course. But what'd they do to me if I were caught?"

"This is not a joke; the proposition's perfectly legal; it's being done
right along."