"What would you do with a thousand dollars if
you had it?" be asked the driver.
"Open a s'loon," said the cabby,
promptly and
huskily. " I know a place I could take money in with
both hands. It's a four-story brick on a corner.
I've got it figured out. Second story - Chinks and
chop suey; third floor -manicures and foreign mis-
sions; fourth floor -poolroom. If you was think-
of putting up the capital.
"Oh, no," said Gillian, I merely asked from cu-
riosity. I take you by the hour. Drive 'til I tell you
to stop."
Eight blocks down Broadway Gillian poked up
the trap with his cane and got out. A blind man sat
upon a stool on the
sidewalk selling pencils. Gillian
went out and stood before him.
"Excuse me," he said, " but would you mind tell-
ing me what you would do if you bad a thousand
dollars?"
"You got out of that cab that just drove up,
didn't you? " asked the blind man.
"I did," said Gillian.
" guess you are all right," said the pencil dealer,
"to ride in a cab by
daylight. Take a look at that,
if you like."
He drew a small book from his coat pocket and
held it out. Gillian opened it and saw that it was a
bank
deposit book. It showed a balance of $1,785 to
the blind man's credit.
Gillian returned the book and got into the cab.
"I forgot something," be said. "You may drive
to the law offices of Tolman & Sharp, at - Broad-
way."
Lawyer Tolman looked at him hostilely and in-
quiringly through his gold-rimmed glasses.
" I beg your pardon," said Gillian, cheerfully,
"but may I ask you a question? It is not an im-
pertinent one, I hope. Was Miss Hayden left any-
thing by my uncle's will besides the ring and the
$10?"
" Nothing," said Mr. Tolman.
" I thank you very much, sir," said Gillian, and
on he went to his cab. He gave the driver the ad-
dress of his late uncle's home.
Miss Hayden was
writing letters in the library.
She was small and
slender and clothed in black. But
you would have noticed her eyes. Gillian drifted
in with his air of
regarding the world as inconse-
quent.
I've just come from old Tolman's," he explained.
They've been going over the papers down there.
They found a - Gillian searched his memory for a
legal term - they found an
amendment or a post-
script or something to the will. It seemed that the
old boy loosened up a little on second thoughts and
willed you a thousand dollars. I was driving up this
way and Tolman asked me to bring you the money.
Here it is. You'd better count it to see if it's right."
Gillian laid the money beside her hand on the desk.
Miss Hayden turned white. "Oh! " she said, and
again "Oh !"
Gillian half turned and looked out the window.
"I suppose, of course," be said, in a low voice,
that you know I love you."
"I am sorry," said Miss Hayden,
taking up her
money.
" There is no use? " asked Gillian, almost light-
heartedly.
" I am sorry," she said again.
" May I write a note? " asked Gillian, with a smile,
I-re seated himself at the big library table. She sup-
plied him with paper and pen, and then went back to
her secretaire.
Gillian made out his
account of his
expenditure of
the thousand dollars i;i these words:
Paid by the black sheep, Robert Gillian, $1,000
on
account of the
eternal happiness, owed by Heaven
to the best and dearest woman on earth."
Gillian slipped his
writing into an
envelope, bowed
and went his way.
His cab stopped again at the offices of Tolman &
Sharp.
"I have expended the thousand dollars," he said
cheerily, to Tolman of the gold glasses, " and I have
come to render
account of it, as I agreed. There is
quite a feeling of summer in the air - do you not
think so, Mr. Tolman?" He tossed a white
envelopeon the
lawyer's table. You will find there a memo-
randum, sir, of the modus operandi of the vanishing
of the dollars."
Without
touching the
envelope, Mr. Tolman went
to a door and called his
partner, Sharp. Together
they explored the caverns of an
immense safe. Forth
they dragged, as
trophy of their search a big
envelopesealed with wax. This they
forcibly invaded, and
wagged their
venerable heads together over its con-
tents. Then Tolman became spokesman.
"Mr. Gillian," he said,
formally" target="_blank" title="ad.形式地,正式地">
formally, "there was a
codicil to your uncle's will. It was intrusted to us
privately, with instructions that it be not opened until
you had furnished us with a full
account of your
handling of the $1,000 bequest in the will. As you
have fulfilled the conditions, my
partner and I have
read the codicil. I do not wish to encumber your
understanding with its legal phraseology, but I will
acquaint you with the spirit of its contents.
In the event that your
disposition of the $1,000
demonstrates that you possess any of the qualifica-
tions that
deservereward, much benefit will
accrue to you. Mr. Sharp and I are named
as the judges, and I assure you that we will do our
duty
strictly according to justice-with liberality.
We are not at all unfavorably disposed toward you,
Mr. Gillian. But let us return to the letter of the
codicil. If your
disposal of the money in question has
been
prudent, wise, or unselflish, it is in our power to
hand you over bonds to the value of $50,000, which
have been placed in our hands for that purpose. But
if - as our
client, the late Mr. Gillian, explicitly
provides - you have used this money as you have
money in the past, I quote the late Mr. Gillian
- in reprehensible dissipation among disreputable
associates - the $50,000 is to be paid to Miriam
Hayden, ward of the late Mr. Gillian, without delay.
Now, Mr. Gillian, Mr. Sharp and I will examine your
account in regard to the $1,000. You
submit it in
writing, I believe. I hope you will
repose confidence
in our decision."
Mr. Tolman reached for the
envelope. Gillian
was a little the quicker in
taking it up. He tore the
account and its cover
leisurely into strips and dropped
them into his pocket.
"It's all right," he said, smilingly. "There isn't a
bit of need to
bother you with this. I don't suppose
you'd understand these itemized bets, anyway. I
lost the thousand dollars on the races. Good-day to
you, gentlemen."
Tolman & Sharp shook their beads mournfully at
each other when Gillian left, for they heard him whis-
tling gayly in the
hallway as he waited for the ele-
vator.
THE DEFEAT OF THE CITY
Robert Walmsley's
descent upon the city
resulted in a Kilkenny struggle. He came out of the
fight
victor by a fortune and a
reputation. On the
other band, he was swallowed up by the city. The
city gave him what he demanded and then branded
him with its brand. It remodelled, cut, trimmed and
stamped him to the pattern it approves. It opened
its social gates to him and shut him in on a close-
cropped,
formal lawn with the select herd of rumi-
nants. In dress, habits, manners, provincialism,
routine and narrowness he acquired that
charming in-
solence, that irritating completeness, that sophisti-
cated crassness, that overbalanced poise that makes
the Manhattan gentleman so
delightfully small in his
greatness.
One of the up-state rural counties
pointed with
pride to the successful young
metropolitanlawyer as
a product of its soil. Six years earlier this county
had removed the wheat straw from between its huckle-
berry-stained teeth and emitted a derisive and bucolic
laugh as old man Walmsley's freckle-faced " Bob
abandoned the certain three-per-diem meals of the
one-horse farm for the discontinuous quick lunch
counters of the three-ringed
metropolis. At the end
of the six years no murder trial, coaching party, au-
tomobile accident or cotillion was complete in which
the name of Robert Walmsley did not figure. Tailors
waylaid him in the street to get a new
wrinkle from
the cut of his un
wrinkled
trousers. Hyphenated fel-
lows in the clubs and members of the oldest subpoenaed
families were glad to clap him on the back and allow
him three letters of his name.
But the Matterhorn of Robert Walmsley's success
was not scaled until be married Alicia Van Der Pool.
I cite the Matterhorn, for just so high and cool and
white and
inaccessible was this daughter of the old
burghers. The social Alps that ranged about her
over whose bleak passes a thousand climbers struggled
-- reached only to her knees. She towered in her own
atmosphere,
serene,
chaste, prideful, wading in no
fountains, dining no monkeys,
breeding no dogs for
bench shows. She was a Van Der Pool. Fountains
were made to play for her; monkeys were made for
other people's ancestors; dogs, she understood, were
created to be companions of blind persons and objec-
tionable characters who smoked pipes.
This was the Matterhorn that Robert Walmsley
accomplished. If he found, with the good poet with
the game foot and
artificially curled hair, that he who
ascends to mountain tops will find the loftiest peaks
most wrapped in clouds and snow, he concealed his
chilblains beneath a brave and smiling
exterior. He
was a lucky man and knew it, even though he were
imitating the Spartan boy with an ice-cream freezer
beneath his
doublet frappeeing the region of his
heart.
After a brief
wedding tour
abroad, the couple re-
turned to create a
decidedripple in the calm cistern
(so
placid and cool and sunless it is) of the best so-