ad dubiously. At last he climbed into a hansom and reluctantly
left the revelers behind. He knew it was a birthday celebration, and it
was only half-past twelve in the morning.

At three o'clock the elevator made another trip to the top floor and
Ellis rushed over to the unfriendly doorbell. This time there was
stubborn determination in his face. The singing ceased and a roar of
laughter followed the hush of a moment or two.

"Come in!" called a hearty voice, and Ellis strode firmly into the
studio.

"You are just in time for a 'night-cap,' Ellis," cried Harrison,
rushing to the footman's side. Ellis, stolidly facing the young man,
lifted his hand.

"No, thank you, sir," he said, respectfully. "Mr. Montgomery, if you'll
excuse me for breaking in, I'd like to give you three messages I've
brought here to-night."

"You're a faithful old chap," said Subway Smith, thickly. "Hanged if
I'd do A.D.T. work till three A.M. for anybody."

"I came at ten, Mr. Montgomery, with a message from Mr. Brewster,
wishing you many happy returns of the day, and with a check from him
for one thousand dollars. Here's the check, sir. I'll give my messages
in the order I received them, sir, if you please. At twelve-thirty
o'clock, I came with a message from Dr. Gower, sir, who had been called
in--"

"Called in?" gasped Montgomery, turning white.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Brewster had a sudden heart attack at half-past eleven,
sir. The doctor sent word by me, sir, that he was at the point of
death. My last message--"

"Good Lord!"

"This time I bring a message from Rawles, the butler, asking you to
come to Mr. Brewster's house at once--if you can, sir--I mean, if you
will, sir," Ellis interjected apologetically. Then, with his gaze
directed steadily over the heads of the subdued "Sons," he added,
impressively:

"Mr. Brewster is dead, sir."

CHAPTER II

SHADES OF ALADDIN

Montgomery Brewster no longer had "prospects." People could not now
point him out with the remark that some day he would come into a
million or two. He had "realized," as Oliver Harrison would have put
it. Two days after his grandfather's funeral a final will and testament
was read, and, as was expected, the old banker atoned for the hardships
Robert Brewster and his wife had endured by bequeathing one million
dollars to their son Montgomery. It was his without a restriction,
without an admonition, without an incumbrance. There was not a
suggestion as to how it