"My gay young man," he remarked finally, "the only position you occupy is one into which you have deliberately walked yourself. You come here in your fine clothes and your beaver hat and--excuse me--your whiskers, and you are surprised that there is no money forthcoming to pay your debts. Do not look astonished. I know and have known for a long time of your debts. I have followed your career with attention if not with edification. Even for the son of a Baptist minister you have done pretty well. However, life is life and everybody is not the same. I sha'n't judge you. I was a bit of a dog myself, although I don't look it now. But I can give you no more money for game-cocks and cigars. It is time for you to start in and earn your own living--if you can. At the end of the term I will give you fifty dollars and a ticket to New York, or one hundred dollars and no ticket to anywhere. You will have to kick out for yourself. So fine a fellow," he added, "ought not to find it hard to get along. No doubt you could find some rich girl to marry you and support you in idleness." I flushed with anger and sprang to my feet. "I did not come here to be insulted!" I cried furiously. Old Mr. Toddleham chuckled apologetically. "Tut, tut! No offence. You won't find earning your living such an easy matter. Have you thought anything about what you'll do?" "No," I answered, still indignant. "How much do you owe?" "About forty-eight hundred dollars." "Damme!" muttered Mr. Tuckerman Toddleham. "More than you could earn in the first five years at the law!" "See here," I interrupted, "do you seriously mean that except for fifty dollars or so there is nothing coming to me out of my grandfather's estate? Why, he was worth over a million!" "That is exactly what I mean," he returned. "He left you nothing except an allowance for your education during your good behavior. He made me the judge. I'm your trustee and I can't conscientiously let you have any more money to drink up and gamble with. It's over and done with." He rapped with an air of finality on his desk with the little bronze horse. "Who gets all the money?" I asked ruefully. "The Society for the Propagation of Free Thinking," he answered, eyeing me sharply. "I should think anything like that ought to be contrary to law!" I retorted. "It ought to be a crime to encourage atheism." "It's a good devise under our statutes!" he answered dryly. "I suppose your own faith is beautiful enough, eh?"