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"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 envelope

on 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 envelope
sealed 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 unwrinkled 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-



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