oung friend a harm. In fact, my firm have been his family
solicitors for generations."

"Very well," I agreed, and led the way to the one-room adobe that Tim
and I occupied.

If I had expected an enthusiastic greeting for the boyhood friend from
the old home, I would have been disappointed. Tim was sitting with his
back to the door reading an old magazine. When we entered he glanced
over his shoulder.

"Ah, Case," said he, and went on reading. After a moment he said
without looking up, "Sit down."

The little man took it calmly, deposited himself in a chair and his bag
between his feet, and looked about him daintily at our rough quarters.
I made a move to go, whereupon Tim laid down his magazine, yawned,
stretched his arms over his head, and sighed.

"Don't go, Harry," he begged. "Well, Case," he addressed the
barrister, "what is it this time? Must be something devilish important
to bring you--how many thousand miles is it--into such a country as
this."

"It is important, Mr. Clare," stated the lawyer in his dry sing-song
tones; "but my journey might have been avoided had you paid some
attention to my letters."

"Letters!" repeated Tim, opening his eyes. "My dear chap, I've had no
letters."

"Addressed as usual to your New York bankers."

Tim laughed softly. "Where they are, with my last two quarters'
allowance. I especially instructed them to send me no mail. One
spends no money in this country." He paused, pulling his moustache.
"I'm truly sorry you had to come so far," he continued, "and if your
business is, as I suspect, the old one of inducing me to return to my
dear uncle's arms, I assure you the mission will prove quite fruitless.
Uncle Hillary and I could never live in the same county, let alone the
same house."

"And yet your uncle, the Viscount Mar, was very fond of you," ventured
Case. "Your allowances--"

"Oh, I grant you his generosity in MONEY affairs--"

"He has continued that generosity in the terms of his will, and those
terms I am here to communicate to you."

"Uncle Hillary is dead!" cried Tim.

"He passed away the sixteenth of last June."

A slight pause ensued.

"I am ready to hear you," said Tim soberly, at last.

The barrister stooped and began to fumble with his bag.

"No, not that!" cried Tim, with some impatience. "Tell me in your own
words."

The lawyer sat back and pressed his finger points together over his
stomach.

"The late Viscount," said he, "has