Ursula Ardfern stood for the one consistently successful woman management in town. Despite her youth she had chosen and cast her own plays and in four seasons had not known the meaning of the word failure. “She’s quite charming,” Tab said. “Of course, I felt a fool; interviewing actresses is off my beat anyway. Who is the letter from?” He glanced up at the envelope propped on the mantelpiece. “From Uncle Jesse,” said the other without looking up from his book. “I wrote to him, asking him if he would lend me fifty.” “And he said?-- I saw him today, by-the-way.” “Read it,” invited Rex Lander with a grin. Tab took down the envelope and extracted a thick sheet of paper written in a crabbed, school-boy-hand. “Dear Rex (he read), your quarterly allowance is not due until the twenty-first. I regret, therefore, that I cannot agree to your request. You must live more economically, remembering that when you inherit my money you will be thankful for the experience which economical living has given to you and which will enable you to employ the great wealth which will be yours, in a more judicious, far-seeing manner.” “He’s a miserable old skinflint,” said Tab, tossing the letter back to the mantelshelf. “Somebody was telling me the other day that he’s worth a million--where did he make it?” Rex shook his head. “In China, I think. He was born there and started in quite a humble way as a trader on the Amur River Goldfields. Then he bought property on which gold was discovered. I don’t know,” he said, scratching his chin, “that I ought to complain. After all, there may be a lot in all he says, and he has been a good friend of mine.” “How often have you seen him?” “I spent a week with him last year,” said Rex, with a little grimace at the memory. “Still,” he hastened to add, “I owe him a lot. It may be if I wasn’t such a lazy slug and didn’t like expensive things, I could live within my income.” Tab pulled at his pipe in silence. Presently he said: “There are all sorts of rumors about old Jesse Trasmere. A fellow told me the other day that he is a known miser; keeps his money in the house, which, of course, is a romantic lie.”