Brewsters Millions | Page 2

was still a child, and, as if
to make up for his long relentlessness, the grandfather had taken the
boy to his own house and had cared for him with what he called
affection. After college and some months on the continent, however,
Monty had preferred to be independent. Old Mr. Brewster had found
him a place in the bank, but beyond this and occasional dinners, Monty
asked for and received no favors. It was a question of work, and hard
work, and small pay. He lived on his salary because he had to, but he
did not resent his grandfather's attitude. He was better satisfied to spend
his "weakly salary," as he called it, in his own way than to earn more
by dining seven nights a week with an old man who had forgotten he
was ever young. It was less wearing, he said.
Among the "Little Sons of the Rich," birthdays were always occasions
for feasting. The table was covered with dishes sent up from the French
restaurant in the basement. The chairs were pushed back, cigarettes
were lighted, men had their knees crossed. Then Pettingill got up.
"Gentlemen," he began, "we are here to celebrate the twenty-fifth
birthday of Mr. Montgomery Brewster. I ask you all to join me in
drinking to his long life and happiness."
"No heel taps!" some one shouted. "Brewster! Brewster!" all called at

once.
"For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fellow!"
The sudden ringing of an electric bell cut off this flow of sentiment,
and so unusual was the interruption that the ten members straightened
up as if jerked into position by a string.
"The police!" some one suggested. All faces were turned toward the
door. A waiter stood there, uncertain whether to turn the knob or push
the bolt.
"Damned nuisance!" said Richard Van Winkle. "I want to hear
Brewster's speech."
"Speech! Speech!" echoed everywhere. Men settled into their places.
"Mr. Montgomery Brewster," Pettingill introduced.
Again the bell rang--long and loud.
"Reinforcements. I'll bet there's a patrol in the street," remarked Oliver
Harrison.
"If it's only the police, let them in," said Pettingill. "I thought it was a
creditor."
The waiter opened the door.
"Some one to see Mr. Brewster, sir," he announced.
"Is she pretty, waiter?" called McCloud.
"He says he is Ellis, from your grandfather's, sir!"
"My compliments to Ellis, and ask him to inform my grandfather that
it's after banking hours. I'll see him in the morning," said Mr. Brewster,
who had reddened under the jests of his companions.

"Grandpa doesn't want his Monty to stay out after dark," chuckled
Subway Smith.
"It was most thoughtful of the old gentleman to have the man call for
you with the perambulator," shouted Pettingill above the laughter. "Tell
him you've already had your bottle," added McCloud.
"Waiter, tell Ellis I'm too busy to be seen," commanded Brewster, and
as Ellis went down in the elevator a roar followed him.
"Now, for Brewster's speech!--Brewster!"
Monty rose.
"Gentlemen, you seem to have forgotten for the moment that I am
twenty-five years old this day, and that your remarks have been
childish and wholly unbecoming the dignity of my age. That I have
arrived at a period of discretion is evident from my choice of friends;
that I am entitled to your respect is evident from my grandfather's
notorious wealth. You have done me the honor to drink my health and
to reassure me as to the inoffensiveness of approaching senility. Now I
ask you all to rise and drink to 'The Little Sons of the Rich.' May the
Lord love us!"
An hour later "Rip" Van Winkle and Subway Smith were singing "Tell
Me, Pretty Maiden," to the uncertain accompaniment of Pettingill's
violin, when the electric bell again disturbed the company.
"For Heaven's sake!" shouted Harrison, who had been singing "With
All Thy Faults I Love Thee Still," to Pettingill's lay figure.
"Come home with me, grandson, come home with me now," suggested
Subway Smith.
"Tell Ellis to go to Halifax," commanded Montgomery, and again Ellis
took the elevator downward. His usually impassive face now wore a
look of anxiety, and twice he started to return to the top floor, shaking
his head dubiously. At last he climbed into a hansom and reluctantly

left the revelers behind. He knew it was a birthday celebration, and it
was only half-past twelve in the morning.
At three o'clock the elevator made another trip to the top floor and Ellis
rushed over to the unfriendly doorbell. This time there was stubborn
determination in his face. The singing ceased and a roar of laughter
followed the hush of a moment or two.
"Come in!" called a hearty voice, and Ellis strode firmly into the studio.
"You are just in time for a 'night-cap,'