ss letter," replied Garrison indifferently,
hiding his burning curiosity. He did not know who his correspondent
could possibly be. Something impelled him to wait until he was alone in
his room before opening it. It was from the eminent lawyer, Theobald D.
Snark.

"BELOVED IMPOSTOR: '_Ars longa, vita brevis_,' as the philosopher has
truly said, which in the English signifies that I cannot afford to wait
for the demise of the reverend and guileless major before I garner the
second fruits of my intelligence. Ten thousand is a mere pittance in
New York--one's appetite develops with cultivation, and mine has been
starved for years--and I find I require an income. Fifty a week or
thereabouts will come in handy for the present. I know you have access
to the major's pocketbook, it being situated on the same side as his
heart, and I will expect a draft by following mail. He will be glad to
indulge the sporting blood of youth. If I cannot share the bed of roses,
I can at least fatten on the smell. I would have to be compelled to tell
the major what a rank fraud and unsurpassed liar his supposed nephew
is. So good a liar that he even imposed upon me. Of course I thought you
were the real nephew, and it horrifies me to know that you are a fraud.
But, remember, silence is golden. If you feel any inclination of getting
fussy, remember that I am a lawyer, and that I can prove I took your
claim in good faith. Also, the Southerners are notoriously hot-tempered,
deplorably addicted to firearms, and I don't think you would look a
pretty sight if you happened to get shot full of buttonholes."

The letter was unsigned, typewritten, and on plain paper. But Garrison
knew whom it was from. It was the eminent lawyer's way not to place
damaging evidence in the hands of a prospective enemy.

"This means blackmail," commented Garrison, carefully replacing the
letter in its envelope. "And it serves me right. I wonder do I look
silly. I must; for people take me for a fool."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE COLONEL'S CONFESSION.

Garrison did not sleep that night. His position was clearly credited
and debited in the ledger of life. He saw it; saw that the balance was
against him. He must go--but he could not, would not. He decided to take
the cowardly, half-way measure. He had not the courage for renunciation.
He would stay until this pot of contumacious fact came to the boil,
overflowed, and scalded him out.

He was not afraid of the eminent Mr. Snar