"Maybe I'd give it to you for nothing--a little of it at any rate. See, you trust me; and here's--trust in your son." Patsy's voice dropped to a whisper; she leaned forward and opened one of the sick man's hands, then folded the fingers tightly over something that appeared to be invisible--and precious. "Now, you believe in him, no matter what he's done; you believe he wouldn't wrong you or himself by doing anything base; you believe that he is coming back to you--to break the loneliness, and that he'll find a poor, plain man for a father, waiting him. Don't you remember the prodigal lad--how his father saw him a long way off and went to meet him? Well, you can meet him with a long-distance trust--understanding. And there's one thing more; don't you be so blind or so foolish as to crush him with the weight of 'all this.' Mind, he has the right to the making of his own life--for a bit at least; and it's your privilege to give him that right--somehow. You've still a chance to keep him from wanting to pitch your money for quoits off the Battery." Patsy sprang to her feet; but Burgeman senior had reached forward quickly and caught her skirt, holding it in a marvelously firm grip. "Then you do know who I am; you've known it all along." "I know you're the master of all this, and your lad is the Rich Man's Son; that's all." "And you think--you think I have no right to leave my son the inheritance I have worked and saved for him." "I think you have no right to leave him your--greed. 'Tis a mortal poor inheritance for any lad." "Your vocabulary is rather blunt." Burgeman smiled faintly. "But it is very refreshing. It is a long time since naked truth and I met face to face." "But will it do you any good--or is it too late?" Patsy eyed him contemplatively. "Too late for what?" "Too late for the inheritance--too late to give it away somewhere else--or loan it for a few years till the lad had a chance to find out if he could make some decent use of it himself. There's many ways of doing it; I have thought of a few this last half-hour. You might loan it to the President to buy up some of the railroads for the government--or to purchase the coal or oil supply; or you might offer it as a prize to the country that will stop fighting first; or it might buy clean politics into some of the cities--or endow a university." She laughed. "It's odd, isn't it, how a body without a cent to her name can dispose of a few score millions--in less minutes?" "If you please, sir." A motionless, impersonal figure in livery stood at a respectful distance behind the wheel-chair. Neither of them had been conscious of his presence. "Well, Parsons?" "Mr. Billy, sir, has come back, sir. He and Mr. Fitzpatrick came together. Shall I bring them out here or wheel you inside, sir?" "Inside!" Burgeman senior almost shouted it. Then he turned to Patsy and there was more than mere curiosity in his voice: "Who are you?"