Omaha daily bee., 1918-08-11
CHAPTERI.
Exit Mr.. Stanley G. Fulton.

Exit Mr.. Stanley G. Fulton.
There was a thoughtful frown on
the tace of the man who was the pos
SCISSOR of $20,0OG00O. He was a
tall, spare man, with a fringe of red
dist-brown hair encircling bald spot
His blue eyes, fixed just now in a
steady gaze upon row of ponderous
law books across the room, were
friendly and benevolent in direct con-
tradiction to the bulldog, never-let-go
fighting qualities of the square jaw be-
low the firm rather thin lips.
b The lawyer, a youthfully alert man
of 90 years, trinity gray as to garb,
hair and mustache sat idly watching
him, yet with eyes that looked so in
tently that they seemed to listen.
Forffully five minutes the two men
had been pulling at their cigars in
silence when the millionaire spoke.
Ned, what am l going to do with
money!"
Into the lawyers listening eyes
flashed, for moment, the keenly
scrutinizing glance usually reserved
for the witness on the other side.
Then quietly came the answer.
Spend it yourself, l hope-for
some years to come, Stanley"
Mr.. Stanley G. Fulton was guilty
OF shrug and an uplifted eyebrow.
Thanks. Very pretty, and I appre-
ciate it of course. But / can't wear
but one suit of clothes at a time, nor
eat but one dinner-which, by the
way, just now consists of somebody's
health biscuit and hot water. Twenty
millions don't really what you might
call melt away at that rate"
The lawyer frowned.
"Shucks, Fulton" he expostulated,
with an irritable twist of his hand. "I
thought better of you than that. This
poor rich mans 'one-suit, dinner,
ope-bed-at-a-time' hard-1uck story
doesn't suit your style. Better cut it
outp"
"All right. Cut it is" The man
smiled good-humoredly. "But you see
was nettled. You didn't get me at
ALL I asked you what was to become
of my money after I'd done spending
it myself-the little that is left, Of
course"
Once more from the lawyers eyes
flashed that keenly scrutinizing
glance.
What was it, Fulton? A midnight
rabbit, or wedge of mince pie not
like mother used to make? Why, man
alive, you're barely over 50, yet.
Cheer up! It's only little matter of
Indigestion. There are lot of good
days and good dinners coming to you
yet"
The millionaire made a wry face.
Very likely-if I survive the bis
cults. But, seriously Ned. I'm in earn
: est. No, don't think I'm going
to die--yet awhile. But ran across
young Bixby last night-got him
home. in fact. Delivered him to his
white-faced little wife. Talk about
your maudlin idiotsp
Yes, know. Too bad. too badp
Hmm; we'll. that's what one mil
lion did-inherited. 1t set me to
thinking-of mine, when l get
through with them"
II see." The lawyers lips came to-
gether little grinly. you've not
made your will, believe"
mo. Dreaded it, somehow. Funny
how a man'll fight shy of a little thing
like that, isn't it? And when we're
so mighty particular where it goes
while we're living!"
Yes, l know; you're not the only
one. You have relatives-somewhere
| surmise."
Nothing nearer than cousins, third
or fourth, back east. They'd get it.
suppose-without a will"
The millionaire repeated the wry
lace of moment before.
I'm not marrying man. never
did care much for women; and-I'm
not fool enough to think that a wo-
man would be apt to fall in love with
my bald head. Nor am / obliged
enough to care to hand the millions
over to the woman that falls in love
with them, taking me along as the
necessary sack that holds the gold
II it comes to that, I'd rather risk the
cousins. They, at least, are of my
own blood, and they didn't angle to
get the money"
You know themf"
Never saw 'en1s