e years and handing out what you made to that old
sponger. I cut loose and made a neat little sum, married, and settled
down. And what have you done? Where have you gotten? Anybody that would
let himself be imposed upon like that deserves to fail. Now what do you
propose to do about this money?"

Mr. Opp did not propose to do anything. The affront offered his business
sagacity was of such a nature that it demanded all his attention. He
composed various denunciatory answers with which to annihilate his
brother. He hesitated between two courses, whether he should hurl
himself upon him in righteous indignation and demand physical
satisfaction, or whether he should rise in a calm and manly attitude and
wither him with blighting sarcasm. And while the decision was pending,
he still sat with his hands in his pockets, and his feet stretched
forth, and blinked indignantly at the ornate elk.

"The estate," continued Ben, contempt still in his face, "amounts at
most to three thousand dollars, after the house is sold. Part of this,
of course, will go to the maintenance of Kippy."

At mention of her name, Mr. Opp's gaze dropped abruptly to his brother's
face.

"What about Kippy? She's going to live with you, ain't she?" he asked
anxiously.

Ben Opp shook his head emphatically. "She certainly is not. I haven't
the slightest idea of burdening myself and family with that
feeble-minded girl."

"But see here," said Mr. Opp, his anger vanishing in the face of this
new complication, "you don't know Kippy; she's just similar to a little
child, quiet and gentle-like. Never give anybody any trouble in her
life. Just plays with her dolls and sings to herself all day."

"Exactly," said Ben; "twenty-five years old and still playing with
dolls. I saw her yesterday, dressed up in all sorts of foolish toggery,
talking to her hands, and laughing. Aunt Tish humors her, and her father
humored her, but I'm not going to. I feel sorry for her all right, but
I am not going to take her home with me."

D. Webster nervously twisted the large seal ring which he wore on his
forefinger. "Then what do you mean," he said hesitatingly--"what do you
want to do about it?"

"Why, send her to an asylum, of course. That's where she ought to have
been all these years."

Mr. Opp, sitting upon the small of his back, with one leg wrapped
casually about the leg of the chair, stared at him for a moment in
consternation, then, gathering himself together, rose an