Oh, Money! Money! | Page 2

scrutinizing
glance.
"What was it, Fulton? A midnight rabbit, or a wedge of mince pie NOT
like mother used to make? Why, man alive, you're barely over fifty, yet.
Cheer up! It's only a little matter of indigestion. There are a lot of good
days and good dinners coming to you, yet."
The millionaire made a wry face.
"Very likely--if I survive the biscuits. But, seriously, Ned, I'm in
earnest. No, I don't think I'm going to die--yet awhile. But I ran across
young Bixby last night--got him home, in fact. Delivered him to his
white-faced little wife. Talk about your maudlin idiots!"
"Yes, I know. Too bad, too bad!"
"Hm-m; well, that's what one million did--inherited. It set me to
thinking--of mine, when I get through with them."
"I see." The lawyer's lips came together a little grimly. "You've not
made your will, I believe."
"No. Dreaded it, somehow. Funny how a man'll fight shy of a little
thing like that, isn't it? And when we're so mighty particular where it
goes while we're living!"
"Yes, I know; you're not the only one. You have relatives--somewhere,
I surmise."
"Nothing nearer than cousins, third or fourth, back East. They'd get it, I
suppose--without a will."
"Why don't you marry?"
The millionaire repeated the wry face of a moment before.

"I'm not a marrying man. I never did care much for women; and--I'm
not fool enough to think that a woman would be apt to fall in love with
my bald head. Nor am I obliging enough to care to hand the millions
over to the woman that falls in love with THEM, taking me along as
the necessary sack that holds the gold. If it comes to that, I'd rather risk
the cousins. They, at least, are of my own blood, and they didn't angle
to get the money."
"You know them?"
"Never saw 'em."
"Why not pick out a bunch of colleges and endow them?"
The millionaire shook his head.
"Doesn't appeal to me, somehow. Oh, of course it ought to, but--it just
doesn't. That's all. Maybe if I was a college man myself; but-- well, I
had to dig for what education I got."
"Very well--charities, then. There are numberless organizations that--
"He stopped abruptly at the other's uplifted hand.
"Organizations! Good Heavens, I should think there were! I tried 'em
once. I got that philanthropic bee in my bonnet, and I gave thousands,
tens of thousands to 'em. Then I got to wondering where the money
went."
Unexpectedly the lawyer chuckled.
"You never did like to invest without investigating, Fulton," he
observed.
With only a shrug for an answer the other plunged on.
"Now, understand. I'm not saying that organized charity isn't all right,
and doesn't do good, of course. Neither am I prepared to propose
anything to take its place. And maybe the two or three I dealt with were
particularly addicted to the sort of thing I objected to. But, honestly,

Ned, if you'd lost heart and friends and money, and were just ready to
chuck the whole shooting-match, how would you like to become a
'Case,' say, number twenty-three thousand seven hundred and forty-one,
ticketed and docketed, and duly apportioned off to a six-by-nine rule of
'do this' and 'do that,' while a dozen spectacled eyes watched you being
cleaned up and regulated and wound up with a key made of just so
much and no more pats and preachments carefully weighed and labeled?
How WOULD you like it?"
The lawyer laughed.
"I know; but, my dear fellow, what would you have? Surely,
UNorganized charity and promiscuous giving is worse--"
"Oh, yes, I've tried that way, too," shrugged the other. "There was a
time when every Tom, Dick, and Harry, with a run-down shoe and a
ragged coat, could count on me for a ten-spot by just holding out his
hand, no questions asked. Then a serious-eyed little woman sternly told
me one day that the indiscriminate charity of a millionaire was not only
a curse to any community, but a corruption to the whole state. I believe
she kindly included the nation, as well, bless her! And I thought I was
doing good!" "What a blow--to you!" There was a whimsical smile in
the lawyer's eyes.
"It was." The millionaire was not smiling. "But she was right. It set me
to thinking, and I began to follow up those ten-spots--the ones that I
could trace. Jove! what a mess I'd made of it! Oh, some of them were
all right, of course, and I made THOSE fifties on the spot. But the
others--! I tell you, Ned, money that isn't earned is the most risky thing
in the world. If I'd left half those wretches alone, they'd have braced up
and helped themselves and made