er the reading of the will--and not a day
later--Mr. Dick was to take charge of the sanatorium and to stay there
for two months without a day off. If at the end of that time the place
was being successfully conducted and could show that it hadn't lost
money, the entire property became his for keeps. If he failed it was to
be sold and the money given to charity.

You would have to know Richard Carter to understand the excitement the
will caused. Most of us, I reckon, like the sort of person we've never
dared to be ourselves. The old doctor had gone to bed at ten o'clock all
his life and got up at seven, and so he had a sneaking fondness for the
one particular grandson who often didn't go to bed at all. Twice to
my knowledge when he was in his teens did Dicky Carter run away from
school, and twice his grandfather kept him for a week hidden in the
shelter-house on the golf links. Naturally when Mr. Van Alstyne and I
had to hide him again, which is further on in the story, he went to the
old shelter-house like a dog to its kennel, only this time--but that's
ahead, too.

Well, the family went back to town in a buzz of indignation, and I
carried my waistcoat buttons and my Anatomy out to the spring-house
and had a good cry. There was a man named Thoburn who was crazy for the
property as a summer hotel, and every time I shut my eyes I could see
"Thoburn House" over the veranda and children sailing paper boats in the
mineral spring.

Sure enough, the next afternoon Mr. Thoburn drove out from Finleyville
with a suit case, and before he'd taken off his overcoat he came out to
the spring-house.

"Hello, Minnie," he exclaimed. "Does the old man's ghost come back to
dope the spring, or do you do it?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Thoburn," I retorted
sharply. "If you don't know that this spring has its origin in--"

"In Schmidt's drug store down in Finleyville!" he finished for me. "Oh,
I know all about that spring, Minnie! Don't forget that my father's
cows used to drink that water and liked it. I leave it to you," he said,
sniffing, "if a self-respecting cow wouldn't die of thirst before she
drank that stuff as it is now."

I'd been filling him a glass--it being a matter of habit with me--and he
took it to the window and held it to the light.

"You're getting careless, Minnie," he said, squinting at it. "Some of
those drugs ought to be dissolved first in hot water. There's a lump of
lithia there that has