“Your uncle will give it to you. He thinks you’re just right and he couldn’t deny you anything.” “Uncle Ward is a dear and he’s always given me everything I want, but I don’t like to ask for too much.” “It’s your own money, isn’t it?” “Yes, Uncle Ward has looked after my property ever since Mother and Father died, but the other day he told me he wanted to have a long talk with me about money. I guess I’ve been using it up dreadfully fast. Boarding school costs such a lot.” “Well, it shouldn’t cost so much to go camping.” “No, that’s so,” Doris agreed, more cheerfully. “I think I’ll ask him if I can’t go. Oh, dear, I don’t see why one has to worry about money all the time! I’d just be sick, if I found out I couldn’t go on with my music lessons. It would seem so funny to be poor!” “I wouldn’t see anything funny about it,” Marshmallow said as he thoughtfully munched a candy bar. “I didn’t really mean it would be funny,” Doris corrected. “I’ve always had the things I’ve needed and until Uncle Ward spoke to me the other day, it never occurred to me that I didn’t have a substantial income.” Remembering that she had not read her second letter, she tore open the envelope and glanced curiously at the message. It was written in a fine but cramped hand, and Doris turned over at once to the signature. “Azalea and Iris Gates,” she read aloud. “How very odd!” “What’s odd?” Marshmallow demanded. “Why, just listen to this letter: “‘My dear Miss Force: We understand you are the only daughter of the late Louise Trent Force. We knew her a great many years ago, and now after many years of heartache over her older brother, John, we find a most unusual circumstance has arisen. Could you come to Rumson and visit our home in order to acquaint yourself with the present affairs pertaining to John Trent, your uncle? Very truly yours, Azalea and Iris Gates.’” “You never told me you had an uncle by that name, Doris.” “I didn’t know it myself, Marshmallow! This is all news to me!” “Sort of queer they invite you down to their place at Rumson, isn’t it? A fellow would think they could write anything they wanted to tell you.” “Perhaps this is only an excuse for something else,” Doris said, thoughtfully scanning the letter a second time. “What do you suppose they mean by saying they want to acquaint me with the present affairs pertaining to my uncle? I hope I’m going to inherit some money! I need it.” “Fat chance,” Marshmallow grunted. “More ’n likely they’ll ask you for some.” Doris did not reply, for just then a smart red roadster swung around the corner. It did not appear to be running smoothly and the driver, a man of perhaps thirty, dressed immaculately but in rather sporty attire, brought the car to a standstill not a half dozen yards from where Doris and Marshmallow were standing. “Now what?” they heard him mutter angrily. Doris and Marshmallow moved over toward the car, curious to learn what was wrong.