rust itself upon him. If on that very day, October the first,
he were to begin the task of spending it he would have but three
hundred and fifty-seven days in which to accomplish the end. Taking the
round sum of one million dollars as a basis, it was an easy matter to
calculate his average daily disbursement. The situation did not look so
utterly impossible until he held up the little sheet of paper and
ruefully contemplated the result of that simple problem in mathematics.

It meant an average daily expenditure of $2,801.12 for nearly a year,
and even then there would be sixteen cents left over, for, in proving
the result of his rough sum in division, he could account for but
$999,999.84. Then it occurred to him that his money would be drawing
interest at the bank.

"But for each day's $2,801.12, I am getting seven times as much," he
soliloquized, as he finally got into bed. "That means $19,607.84 a day,
a clear profit of $16,806.72. That's pretty good--yes, too good. I
wonder if the bank couldn't oblige me by not charging interest."

The figures kept adding and subtracting themselves as he dozed off, and
once during the night he dreamed that Swearengen Jones had sentenced
him to eat a million dollars' worth of game and salad at the French
restaurant. He awoke with the consciousness that he had cried aloud, "I
can do it, but a year is not very long in an affair of this kind."

It was nine o'clock when Brewster finally rose, and after his tub he
felt ready to cope with any problem, even a substantial breakfast. A
message had come to him from Mr. Grant of Grant & Ripley, announcing
the receipt of important dispatches from Montana, and asking him to
luncheon at one. He had time to spare, and as Margaret and Mrs. Gray
had gone out, he telephoned Ellis to take his horse to the entrance to
the park at once. The crisp autumn air was perfect for his ride, and
Brewster found a number of smart people already riding and driving in
the park. His horse was keen for a canter and he had reached the
obelisk before he drew rein. As he was about to cross the carriage road
he was nearly run down by Miss Drew in her new French automobile.

"I beg your pardon," she cried. "You're the third person I've run into,
so you see I'm not discriminating against you."

"I should be flattered even to be run down by you."

"Very well, then, look out." And she started the machine as if to
charge him. She stopped in time, and said with a laugh, "Y