The tall, dark-haired young man on the right was Hazard Ballou, artist; French as to descent, as his name indicated, who was struggling for fame and fortune by painting pictures which nobody seemed to want to buy, and illustrating the joke articles in an evening paper to earn support in the meantime. His companion was Jerry Gaines, a reporter, that was all, though he did have wonderful ambition and always alluded confidently to the time when he should be the editor of some great New York paper, and when that time arrived, what he should do for the remainder of the trinity, his author and artist friends, who were always ready to share their crust with him when luck went dead against him in being able to gather in good news articles, and getting up acceptable copy. His gains lay all in his name at present, instead of the more practical place--his pocket. The “Trinity,” as the three young men styled themselves, occupied one and the same room in a New York boarding house, each swearing never to sever the bond by marrying, though a veritable Helen of Troy should tempt them. The three friends had toiled hard, but even in their work they were happy, for they had few cares, and had not been touched by the fever called Love. “You had better tell him what brings us,” whispered Ballou to Gaines, as John Dinsmore seemed in no hurry to question them. “Reporters are generally chosen to break startling news to people,” remarked that young gentleman, dryly. Then, turning to Dinsmore, he began, abruptly: “I say, old fellow, you were a sly dog, when you heard us cussing rich folks in general, never to mention that you had great expectations in that direction, I vow.” “I do not understand you, Jerry,” remarked Dinsmore, looking at his friend in puzzled wonder. “I may as well break headlong into the facts as beat about the bush,” laughed Jerry Gaines, adding: “Well, to tell you an amazing truth, we are here to congratulate you upon inheriting a fortune. A pair of English lawyers have just succeeded in ferreting you out and locating you with our aid. They bring the astounding news, and better still, the documents which prove you to be heir to one of the finest estates in Louisiana, an immense tobacco plantation adjoining it, and----” “My poor old Uncle George!” cut in John Dinsmore, surprised for the moment out of the grief which had taken such a deep hold of him. “And he is dead. I am deeply grieved to hear it. And you say he has left his enormous wealth to me. I can honestly say that I am astounded. He has always given me to understand that I need not expect one cent from him. He was deeply angered at me for my love of roving about the world. There were others nearer and dearer to him who had every right to expect to inherit his fortune. I am bewildered; I cannot understand why he chose to make me his heir.