Brewsters Millions | Page 4

him and thank fortune
that he was not required at the bank that morning. The luxury of
another hour of sleep seemed the greatest perquisite of wealth. His
morning mail amused him at first, for since the newspapers had
published his prosperity to the world he was deluged with letters.
Requests for public or private charity were abundant, but most of his
correspondents were generous and thought only of his own good. For
three days he was in a hopeless state of bewilderment. He was visited
by reporters, photographers, and ingenious strangers who benevolently
offered to invest his money in enterprises with certified futures. When
he was not engaged in declining a gold mine in Colorado, worth five
million dollars, marked down to four hundred and fifty, he was
avoiding a guileless inventor who offered to sacrifice the secrets of a
marvelous device for three hundred dollars, or denying the report that
he had been tendered the presidency of the First National Bank.
Oliver Harrison stirred him out early one morning and, while the sleepy
millionaire was rubbing his eyes and still dodging the bombshell that a

dream anarchist had hurled from the pinnacle of a bedpost, urged him
in excited, confidential tones to take time by the forelock and prepare
for possible breach of promise suits. Brewster sat on the edge of the
bed and listened to diabolical stories of how conscienceless females
had fleeced innocent and even godly men of wealth. From the
bathroom, between splashes, he retained Harrison by the year, month,
day and hour, to stand between him and blackmail.
The directors of the bank met and adopted resolutions lamenting the
death of their late president, passed the leadership on to the first
vice-president and speedily adjourned. The question of admitting
Monty to the directory was brought up and discussed, but it was left for
Time to settle.
One of the directors was Col. Prentiss Drew, "the railroad magnate" of
the newspapers. He had shown a fondness for young Mr. Brewster, and
Monty had been a frequent visitor at his house. Colonel Drew called
him "my dear boy," and Monty called him "a bully old chap," though
not in his presence. But the existence of Miss Barbara Drew may have
had something to do with the feeling between the two men.
As he left the directors' room, on the afternoon of the meeting, Colonel
Drew came up to Monty, who had notified the officers of the bank that
he was leaving.
"Ah, my dear boy," said the Colonel, shaking the young man's hand
warmly, "now you have a chance to show what you can do. You have a
fortune and, with judgment, you ought to be able to triple it. If I can
help you in any way, come and see me."
Monty thanked him.
"You'll be bored to death by the raft of people who have ways to spend
your money," continued the Colonel. "Don't listen to any of them. Take
your time. You'll have a new chance to make money every day of your
life, so go slowly. I'd have been rich years and years ago if I'd had
sense enough to run away from promoters. They'll all try to get a whack
at your money. Keep your eye open, Monty. The rich young man is

always a tempting morsel. "After a moment's reflection, he added,
"Won't you come out and dine with us to- morrow night?"
CHAPTER III
MRS. AND MISS GRAY
Mrs. Gray lived in Fortieth Street. For years Montgomery Brewster had
regarded her quiet, old-fashioned home as his own. The house had once
been her grandfather's, and it was one of the pioneers in that part of the
town. It was there she was born; in its quaint old parlor she was
married; and all her girlhood, her brief wedded life, and her widowhood
were connected with it. Mrs. Gray and Montgomery's mother had been
schoolmates and playmates, and their friendship endured. When old
Edwin Peter Brewster looked about for a place to house his orphaned
grandson, Mrs. Gray begged him to let her care for the little fellow. He
was three years older than her Margaret, and the children grew up as
brother and sister. Mr. Brewster was generous in providing for the boy.
While he was away at college, spending money in a manner that caused
the old gentleman to marvel at his own liberality, Mrs. Gray was well
paid for the unused but well-kept apartments, and there never was a
murmur of complaint from Edwin Peter Brewster. He was hard, but he
was not niggardly.
It had been something of a struggle for Mrs. Gray to make both ends
meet. The property in Fortieth Street was her only possession. But little
money had come to her at her husband's death,