, no more of the hunger cancer. He would have a
name, friends, kin, a future. Something to live for. Some one to care
for; some one to care for him. And he would be all that a nephew should
be; all that, and more. He would make all returns in his power.

He had even reached the point when he saw in the future himself
confessing the deception; saw himself forgiven and being loved for
himself alone. And he would confess it all--his share, but not Snark's.
All he wanted was a start in life. A name to keep clean; traditions to
uphold, for he had none of his own. All this he would gain for a little
subterfuge. And perhaps, as Snark had acutely pointed out, he might be a
better nephew than the original. He would be.

When a man begins to compromise with dishonesty, there is only one
outcome. Garrison's rag of honor was hauled down. He agreed to the
deception. He would play the role of William C. Dagget, the lost nephew.

When he made his intention known, the eminent lawyer nodded as if to say
that Garrison wasted an unnecessary amount of time over a very childish
problem, and then he proceeded to go into the finer points of the game,
building up a life history, supplying dates, etc. Then he sent a wire to
Major Calvert. Afterward he took Garrison to his first respectable lunch
in months and bought him an outfit of clothes. On their return to the
corner nook, fifth shelf of the bookcase, a reply was awaiting them from
Major Calvert. The long-lost nephew, in company with Mr. Snark, was to
start the next day for Cottonton, Virginia. The telegram was warm, and
commended the eminent lawyer's ability.

"Son," said the eminent lawyer dreamily, carefully placing the momentous
wire in his pocket, "a good deed never goes unrewarded. Always remember
that. There is nothing like the old biblical behest: 'Let us pray.'
You for your bed of roses; me for--for----" mechanically he went to the
small towel-cabinet and gravely pointed the unfinished observation with
the black bottle labeled "Poison."

"To the long-lost nephew, Mr. William C. Dagget. To the bed of roses.
And to the eminent lawyer, Theobald D. Snark, Esq., who has mended
a poor fortune with a better brain. Gentlemen," he concluded
grandiloquently, slowly surveying the little room as if it were an
overcrowded Colosseum--"gentlemen, with your permission, together with
that of the immortal Mr. Swiveller, we will proceed to drown it in the
rosy. Drown it in the rosy, gentlemen." A