nt to adopt YOU!"

"You want to WHAT?" I asked.

To learn if Mrs. Farrell also was mad, I glanced toward her, but her
expression was inscrutable. The face of the Irishman had grown purple.

"And why not?" he demanded. "You are a famous young man, all right, and
educated. But there's nothing about me I'm ashamed of! I'm worth five
million dollars and I made every cent Of it myself--and I made it
honest. You ask Dun or Bradstreet, ask----"

I attempted to soothe him.

"THAT'S not it, sir," I explained. "It's a most generous offer, a most
flattering, complimentary offer. But you don't know me. I don t know
you. Choosing a son is a very----"

"I've had you looked up," announced Mrs. Farrell. "The Pinkertons give
you a high rating. I hired 'em to trail you for six months."

I wanted to ask WHICH six months, but decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
I shook my head. Politely but firmly I delivered my ultimatum.

"It is quite impossible!" I said firmly.

Mrs. Farrell continued the debate. She talked in a businesslike manner
and pronounced the arrangement one by which both sides would benefit.
There were thousands of other Farrells, she pointed out, any one of
whom they might have adopted. But they had selected me because in so
choosing, they thought they were taking the least risk. They had decided
she was pleased to say, that I would not disgrace them, and that as a
"literary author" I brought with me a certain social asset.

A clever, young businessman they did not want. Their business affairs
they were quit able to manage themselves. But they would like as an
adopted son one who had already added glory to the name of Farrell,
which glory he was willing to share.

"We wouldn't tie you down," she urged "but we would expect you to live
at Harbor Castle a part of your time, and to call us Ma and Pa.
You would have your own rooms, and your own servant, and there is a
boat-house on the harbor front, where you could write your novels."

At this, knowing none wanted my novels, I may have winced, for,
misreading my discontent, Farrell hastily interrupted.

"You won't have to work at all," he protested heartily. "My son can
afford to live like a lord. You'll get all the spending money you want,
and if you're fond of foreign parts, you can take the yacht wherever you
please!"

"The farther the better," exclaimed Mrs. Farrell with heat. "And when
you get it there, I hope you'll SINK it!"

"Maybe your friends would come an