"That's a fine letter, young man," approved Rob. "Stepdaddy ought to take you into his law firm." "No," declared Beth. "I think Ptolemy has inherited his mother's gift. He should be a writer." "Not on your life!" cried Ptolemy with feeling. "I want to live things instead of writing about them." A tear or two came into Silvia's eyes. "It was very sweet in you, Ptolemy, to try to get the money for mudder." I felt that all this commendation was bad for Ptolemy, and that it was up to me to take a reef in his sails. "It was a well-meant letter, Ptolemy," I said, "and I know that your motive was unselfish, but it is very poor policy to meddle in other people's affairs. Meddlers are mischief makers in spite of their good intentions. I am very glad it did not fall into Uncle Issachar's hands." Ptolemy looked sufficiently squelched. "By the way, Silvia," I said. "I wrote Mr. Winslow and told him not to forget to forward Uncle Issachar's address as soon as he possibly could do so, as I had matters of importance to communicate to him." "He may travel about like father and mother," said Ptolemy, again regaining confidence, "so why don't you put that check for twenty-five thousand in the Savings Department and get the interest on it anyway?" "I think, Ptolemy," said Rob, "that you are too good a financier, after all, to become a lawyer. I will go back to my first conviction that you should be a promoter." "We'll give him to Uncle Issachar," I proposed, "for a partner." CHAPTER XX _"The Money We Earnt for You"_ Life went on uneventfully save for the dire doings of "Them Three." Knowing that they were to be sent to school, they were having their last fling at life untrammeled. September came, and Rob set the day for his departure, as he was going home to arrange his affairs, so he and Beth could leave for an extended honeymoon trip. I planned to go with Rob and install the Polydore three in their distant school. They were so despondent at leaving, as the time drew near, that a feeling of gloom hung over the household, all the members of which, even to Huldah, urged me to relent. But I remained adamant until the evening before the day set for the dissolution of the Polydore family, when something happened that changed all our plans. We were assembled in the library in a state of forced cheerfulness when the doorbell rang. I answered it, and receipted for a telegram which I opened and read in the hall. It was from Chester K. Winslow. "Silvia," I said gravely, as I returned to the library, "your Uncle Issachar is dead. Died in South America. Heart disease. Very sudden." Conflicting emotions were depicted in Silvia's expression. The thought uppermost in all our minds was expressed simultaneously by "Them Three." "Gee! Then you can keep the money we earnt for you."