relented
a bit? He brings endless trouble on my innocent head, just because of a
row before I was born."

"He was a strange man. As a rule, one does not carry grudges quite so
far. But that is neither here nor there. His will is law in this case."

"Suppose I succeed in spending all but a thousand dollars before the
23d of next September! I'd lose the seven millions and be the next
thing to a pauper. That wouldn't be quite like getting my money's
worth."

"It is a problem, my boy. Think it over very seriously before you come
to a decision, one way or the other. In the meantime, we can establish
beyond a doubt the accuracy of this inventory."

"By all means, go ahead, and please urge Mr. Jones not to be too hard
on me. I believe I'll risk it if the restrictions are not too severe.
But if Jones has puritanical instincts, I might as well give up hope
and be satisfied with what I have."

"Mr. Jones is very far from what you'd call puritanical, but he is
intensely practical and clear-headed. He will undoubtedly require you
to keep an expense account and to show some sort of receipt for every
dollar you disburse."

"Good Lord! Itemize?"

"In a general way, I presume."

"I'll have to employ an army of spendthrifts to devise ways and means
for profligacy."

"You forget the item which restrains you from taking anybody into your
confidence concerning this matter. Think it over. It may not be so
difficult after a night's sleep."

"If it isn't too difficult to get the night's sleep."

All the rest of the day Brewster wandered about as one in a dream. He
was pre-occupied and puzzled, and more than one of his old associates,
receiving a distant nod in passing, resentfully concluded that his
wealth was beginning to change him. His brain was so full of
statistics, figures, and computations that it whirled dizzily, and once
he narrowly escaped being run down by a cable car. He dined alone at a
small French restaurant in one of the side streets. The waiter marveled
at the amount of black coffee the young man consumed and looked hurt
when he did not touch the quail and lettuce.

That night the little table in his room at Mrs. Gray's was littered
with scraps of pad paper, each covered with an incomprehensible maze of
figures. After dinner he had gone to his own rooms, forgetting that he
lived on Fifth Avenue. Until long after midnight he smoked and
calculated and dreamed. For the first time the immensity of that
million th