eatened to put him in jail. But
thanks to the good John's liberal allowance, he was still able to put on
a respectable front and thus for years he merely drifted, at heart a
crook, but living the life of a gentleman of leisure, awaiting patiently
the day when he would come into "his own."

The coming inheritance had thus gradually grown to be an obsession.
Night and day it occupied his thoughts. He could think and talk of
nothing else. His associates mockingly called him "Inheritance Jim."
For twenty-five long years he waited for his brother to die, and when,
from time to time, John in his few and far-between letters casually
remarked that he was enjoying excellent health, he took the news almost
in the light of a personal injury.

The years went on. The other cousins, William and Henry had died, each
leaving a son. William's son, Peter Marsh, feeling within the spiritual
call, became a Presbyterian minister at Rahway, and taking to himself a
wife, succeeded in raising a numerous progeny on a very slender income.
Henry's son, Thomas Marsh, followed his father's trade as haberdasher
and barely managed to keep body and soul together. To these poor
relatives, also, the dollars of "uncle" John proved an irresistible
attraction. In order not to be forgotten, they wrote him affectionate
letters, none of which received as much as an acknowledgment. Towards
these impecunious cousins James Marsh assumed a patronizing, almost
friendly, attitude. On divers occasions when his financial affairs
became so critical that he had to negotiate a small loan without delay
he had found even their slender savings useful. In return for these
pecuniary services rendered he had not discouraged the hope which they
often expressed that "uncle" John would remember them in his will. To
serve his own ends he kept up the pleasant fiction that he was on the
best of terms with his brother and that he would gladly use his
influence in their interests.

As a matter of fact, nothing was further from the truth. He saw nothing
of John. As the brothers grew older they drifted further apart. Months,
years, passed without their seeing each other. When in urgent need of
funds James made flying trips to Pittsburg, he never saw his brother
anywhere but at his office. John never invited him to visit his home, a
lonely place situated some miles out in the suburbs. Practically, the
old man led the life of a recluse. At rare intervals he would write to
his brother