Oh, Money! Money! | Page 6

estate--my will. I'll have to make some sort of one, I
suppose."
"But, good Heavens, Stanley, you--you--" the lawyer came to a helpless
pause. His eyes were startled.

"Oh, that's just for emergency, of course, in case anything--er--
happened. What I really intend is that long before the second letter of
instructions is due to be opened, Mr. Stanley G. Fulton will come back
from his South American explorations. He'll then be in a position to
settle his affairs to suit himself, and--er--make a new will.
Understand?"
"Oh, I see. But--there's John Smith? How about Smith?"
The millionaire smiled musingly, and stroked his chin again.
"Smith? Oh! Well, Smith will have finished collecting Blaisdell data, of
course, and will be off to parts unknown. We don't have to trouble
ourselves with Smith any longer."
"Fulton, you're a wizard," laughed the lawyer. "But now about the
cousins. Who are they? You know their names, of course."
"Oh, yes. You see I've done a little digging already--some years ago--
looking up the Blaisdell family. (By the way, that'll come in fine now,
won't it?) And an occasional letter from Bob has kept me posted as to
deaths and births in the Hillerton Blaisdells. I always meant to hunt
them up some time, they being my nearest kith and kin. Well, with
what I already had, and with what Bob has written me, I know these
facts."
He paused, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and consulted it.
"There are two sons and a daughter, children of Rufus Blaisdell. Rufus
died years ago, and his widow married a man by the name of Duff. But
she's dead now. The elder son is Frank Blaisdell. He keeps a grocery
store. The other is James Blaisdell. He works in a real estate office. The
daughter, Flora, never married. She's about forty-two or three, I believe,
and does dressmaking. James Blaisdell has a son, Fred, seventeen, and
two younger children. Frank Blaisdell has one daughter, Mellicent.
That's the extent of my knowledge, at present. But it's enough for our
purpose."

"Oh, anything's enough--for your purpose! What are you going to do
first?"
"I've done it. You'll soon be reading in your morning paper that Mr.
Stanley G. Fulton, the somewhat eccentric multi-millionaire, is about to
start for South America, and that it is hinted he is planning to finance a
gigantic exploring expedition. The accounts of what he's going to
explore will vary all the way from Inca antiquities to the source of the
Amazon. I've done a lot of talking to-day, and a good deal of
cautioning as to secrecy, etc. It ought to bear fruit by to- morrow, or the
day after, at the latest. I'm going to start next week, and I'm really going
EXPLORING, too--though not exactly as they think. I came in to-day
to make a business appointment for to-morrow, please. A man starting
on such a hazardous journey must be prepared, you understand. I want
to leave my affairs in such shape that you will know exactly what to
do--in emergency. I may come to-morrow?"
The lawyer hesitated, his face an odd mixture of determination and
irresolution.
"Oh, hang it all--yes. Of course you may come. To-morrow at ten--if
they don't shut you up before."
With a boyish laugh Mr. Stanley G. Fulton leaped to his feet.
"Thanks. To-morrow at ten, then." At the door he turned back jauntily.
"And, say, Ned, what'll you bet I don't grow fat and young over this
thing? What'll you bet I don't get so I can eat real meat and 'taters
again?"
CHAPTER II
ENTER MR. JOHN SMITH
It was on the first warm evening in early June that Miss Flora Blaisdell
crossed the common and turned down the street that led to her brother
James's home.

The common marked the center of Hillerton. Its spacious green lawns
and elm-shaded walks were the pride of the town. There was a trellised
band-stand for summer concerts, and a tiny pond that accommodated a
few boats in summer and a limited number of skaters in winter. Perhaps,
most important of all, the common divided the plebeian East Side from
the more pretentious West. James Blaisdell lived on the West Side. His
wife said that everybody did who WAS anybody. They had lately
moved there, and were, indeed, barely settled.
Miss Blaisdell did dressmaking. Her home was a shabby little rented
cottage on the East Side. She was a thin-faced little woman with an
anxious frown and near-sighted, peering eyes that seemed always to be
looking for wrinkles. She peered now at the houses as she passed
slowly down the street. She had been only twice to her brother's new
home, and she was not sure that she would recognize it, in spite of the
fact that the