But it did seem to matter, after all. At any rate, Mr. Barbour for the
first time appeared actually interested.

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Bangs? Oh, just a minute, Mr. Bangs. Just a minute,
if you please. Bangs? Why, are you--You're not the--er--professor?
Professor Ga--Ga--"

"Galusha. Yes, I am Galusha Bangs."

"You don't mean it! Well, well, that's odd! I was planning to write you
to-day, Professor. Let me see, here's the memorandum now. We look after
your business affairs, I believe, Professor?"

Galusha nodded. He was anxious to get away. The significance of Cousin
Gussie's illness and absence and what those might mean to Martha Phipps
were beginning to dawn upon him. He wanted to get away and think. The
very last thing he wished to do was to discuss his own business affairs.

"Yes," he admitted; "yes, you--ah--do. That is, Cousin Gussie--ah--Mr.
Cabot does. But, really, I--"

"I won't keep you but a moment, Professor. And what I'm going to tell
you is good news, at that. I presume it IS news; or have you heard of
the Tinplate melon?"

It was quite evident that Galusha had not heard. Nor, hearing now, did
the news convey anything to his mind.

"Melon?" he repeated. "Ah--melon, did you say?"

"Why, yes. The Tinplate people are--"

It was a rather long story, and telling it took longer than the minute
Mr. Barbour had requested. To Galusha it was all a tangled and most
uninteresting snarl of figures and stock quotations and references to
"preferred" and "common" and "new issues" and "rights." He gathered
that, somehow or other, he was to have more money, money which was
coming to him because the "Tinplate crowd," whoever they were, were to
do something or other that people like Barbour called "cutting a melon."

"You understand, Professor?" asked Mr. Barbour, concluding his
explanation.

Galusha was at that moment endeavoring to fabricate a story of his own,
one which he might tell Miss Phipps. It must not be too discouraging, it
must--

"Eh?" he ejaculated, coming out of his daydream. "Oh, yes--yes, of
course."

"As near as I can figure, your share will be well over twelve thousand.
A pretty nice little windfall, I should say. Now what shall I do with
it?"

"Yes.... Oh, I beg your pardon. Dear me, I am afraid I was not attending
as I should."

"I say what shall I do with the check when it comes. That was what I
intended writing you to ask. Do you wish me to reinvest the money, or
shall I send the c