"I can't go in a street-car or a restaurant or a store in town--I can't walk along the street like other men--without being beset by people with axes to grind." He looked at Aunt Jane as if he thought she might have an axe concealed somewhere about her person. "They carry them around with them in their pockets," he said savagely, "ready the minute they see me coming down the street. They line up with them and wait for me to appear. The minute a man hears my name, he doesn't think of _me_--he's thinking what he can get out of me." His mouth set itself close. "I'm not a _man_--I'm money!" Aunt Jane's look was full of twinkling sympathy that went out to him. "It's a pity you didn't think about that sooner, wasn't it?" He stared. "You might 'a' give away most of it--if you'd thought in time." The stare broke. "You think it is easy, don't you?" he scoffed. Her face grew sober. "No, I don't think it's easy.... Money seems to stick to folks' fingers--kind o' glues 'em together, I guess." He rubbed his thin fingers absently and looked down at them. "It seems to me I could find a way, but I suppose I should be just like the rest, if I had it--holding on to it for dear life!" She smiled at him. He was silent a minute, looking before him. "Sometimes I think I would give every dollar I have in the world," he said slowly--"to have some one think of me apart from my money!" He looked at the face in its muslin cap. He knew he had never spoken to any one as he was speaking to Aunt Jane. He had a sense of freeing himself from something. He watched the face in its cap.... "I don't suppose any one can understand--" He broke off with a sigh. "Yes, I understand, I guess." She was looking down at the box of flowers in her lap. "We all have our besetting sins. I have 'em! I guess money's a kind of besetting sin!" XX "If I felt the way you do, Mr. Medfield, I'd do something." "What would you do?" He watched her face. "Well--I'd find things." The face in its cap filled with little thoughts that came and went.... "Dear me! There's so many things, I wouldn't know which to do!" "Suppose you tell _me_ a few." "Well--there's things.... Jimmie Sullivan needs a new leg, for one thing. He needs it the worst way----" "_Who_ is Jimmie Sullivan?" asked the millionaire. "He's in the Children's Ward. Belongs to nobody--as you might say. We're kind of carrying him along till he gets on his feet." "Gets on his legs, you mean?" His face had lost its fretted look; it was smiling a little. "It's a frame leg he needs--one of the kind that lets out and stretches as he grows. Dr. Carmon's made him one--a sort of make-shift leg.... A good one costs two hundred and twenty-five dollars." "Would you mind giving me a pencil and paper?" said Medfield. Aunt Jane brought it from the table and he made a note. "Two hundred and twenty-five, you said?"