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 quite violent effort to get you to return the compliment.

He liked that too. . . . He seemed to like everything about me.

Swank!

Perhaps, but my new income begins today. I don't have to do anything for it, so far as I can see, except introduce the—the—the offspring to my friends. The old gentleman stipulated, though, that I should never mention business. He doesn't want ideas of that nature put into the boy's head.

What is the name of this horrid old man?

Prewett, George Prewett.

We don't know him, do we?

God, no! He belongs to one of the 1870-90 families, I should gather from the house. Stained-glass and wainscoting. I'm sure they give turkey dinners on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

And you don't have to teach the boy anything definite?

No. Nothing was said about reading or study. . . . I rely on you, the old 'un said, to introduce my son to existence. I don't know exactly where it is to be found, but you look as if you do. You know, at least, the things I want my son to know. . . . The old boy was abrupt and brusque, not at all hesitant or indecisive. He signed a cheque at our last interview yesterday morning and passed it over to me.

Paul removed a leather money-case from his