upted.

"Are you trying to tell me," he demanded, "that you handed that check
over to that other--that other--"

He seemed rather at a loss for the word.

Galusha nodded.

"To finance Hambridge's expedition? Yes," he said.

"ALL of it?"

"Yes--ah--yes."

"Well, by George!"

"Perhaps it was impulsive on my part. But, you see, Hambridge DID need
the money. And of course I didn't. The only thing that troubles me is
the fact that, after all, it was money Aunt Clarissa left to me and I
should prefer to do what she would have liked with it. I fear she might
not have liked this."

Cabot nodded, grimly. He had known Aunt Clarissa very, very well.

"You bet she wouldn't," he declared.

"Yes. So don't send me any more, will you? Ah--not unless I ask for it."

"No, I won't." Then he added, "And not then unless I know WHY you ask
for it, you can bet on that."

Galusha was as grateful as if he had been granted a great favor. As they
walked through the outer office together he endeavored to express his
feelings.

"Thank you, thank you very much, Cousin Gussie," he said, earnestly. His
relative glanced about at the desks where rows of overjoyed clerks were
trying to suppress delighted grins and pretend not to have heard.

"You're welcome, Loosh," he said, as they parted at the door, "but don't
you ever dare call me 'Cousin Gussie' again in public as long as you
live."

Galusha Bangs returned to his beloved work at the National Institute
and his income was reinvested for him by the senior partner of Cabot,
Bancroft and Cabot. Occasionally Galusha requested that a portion of
it be sent him, usually for donation to this department or that or to
assist in fitting out an expedition of his own, but, generally speaking,
he was quite content with his modest salary. He unwrapped his mummies
and deciphered his moldering papyri, living far more in ancient Egypt
than in modern Washington. The Great War and its demands upon the youth
of the world left the Institute short-handed and he labored harder than
ever, doing the work of two assistants as well as his own. It was the
only thing he could do for his country, the only thing that country
would permit him to do, but he tried to do that well. Then the
Hindenburg line was broken, the armistice was signed and the civilized
world rejoiced.

But Galusha Bangs did not rejoice, for his health had broken, like the
enemy's resistance, and the doctors told him that he was to go away