another; "an' Doctor Prescott an' Basset have got
to hand out ten thousand apiece if he does. Fork over, Simon."

"Guess ye'll wait till doomsday afore J'rome sticks to his part
on't," said Basset, with a sneer; but his lips were white.

"No, I won't; no, I won't," responded the man, hilariously. "J'rome's
goin' to do it; Jake here says he heard so; it come real straight."
He winked at the others, who closed around, grinning maliciously.

Basset broke through them with an oath and made for the door. "It's a
damned lie, I tell ye!" he shouted, hoarsely; "an' if J'rome's sech a
G-- d-- fool, I'll see ye all to h--, and him too, afore I pay a
dollar on't."

When the door had slammed behind him, the men looked at one another
curiously. "You don't s'pose J'rome will do it," one said,
meditatively.

"He'll do it when the river runs uphill an' crows are white,"
answered another, with a hard laugh.

"I dun'no'," said another, doubtfully. "J'rome Edwards 's always been
next-door neighbor to a fool, an' there's no countin' on what a fool
'll do!"

"S'pose you'd calculate on comin' in for some of the fool's money, if
he should give it up," remarked a dry and unexpected voice at his
elbow.

The man looked around and saw Ozias Lamb. "Ye don't think he'll do
it, do ye?" he cried, eagerly.

"'Ain't got nothin' to say," replied Ozias. "I s'pose when a fool
does part with his money, there's always wise men 'nough to take it."

John Upham, who, with some meagre little purchases in hand, had been
listening to the discussion, started for the door. When he had opened
it, he turned and faced them. "I'll tell ye one thing, all of ye," he
said, "an' that is, _he'll_ do it."

There was a clamor of astonishment. "How d'ye know it? Did he tell ye
so?" they shouted.

"Wait an' see," returned John Upham, and went out.

Plodding along his homeward road, a man passed him at a rapid stride.
John Upham started. "Hullo, J'rome," he called, but getting no
response, thought he had been mistaken.

However, the man was Jerome, but the tumult of his soul almost
deafened him to voices of the flesh. He was, for the time, out of the
plane of purely physical sounds on one of the spirit, full of
unutterable groanings and strivings.

When Jerome had received the news of his legacy, he had felt, for the
first time in his whole life, the joy of sudden acquisition and
possession. His head reeled with it; he was, in a sense, intoxicated.
"Am I ri