He did not speak for a few moments, but stood pulling pensively at his long, bushy beard--stroking and smoothing it as if it was the seat of all his wild unrest. It looked so quaint to see this poor, bent old grandfather of mine preparing to bully me, that I could hardly refrain from smiling. And yet there was something in his manner which demanded respect and attention. "It's difficult to speak one's mind, George, after all the kindness you've shown me since I've been in England," he began, half-apologetically. There was another long and contemplative pause, more tugging at his beard--and more curiosity on my part. But presently he broke free of his fetters and went straight ahead. "Have you ever wished I were dead?" he asked, abruptly. "Don't be afraid to answer!" "In moments of anger or weakness," I began tentatively, "I may--once or twice. . . ." "Ah! That's nothing!" It was very broad-minded of him to make such an admission, but I still couldn't see what he was driving at. "What I mean is this, George," he went on. "Have you ever wished me dead because of my money?" I started, hesitated a second, and then said: "_No!_" "You've never thought how much better off you'll be when I'm dead and gone? Never wished I'd--get a move on?" "Naturally, I've realized that you'd leave most of your money to me, but I've never . . ." "Then you must be different from everyone else. The young are always waiting for the old to die and leave them something." "That is rather sweeping!" "Nonsense! Don't be a hypocrite. I had just the same inclination when I was young--at any rate about distant relatives--like yourself and me, for instance." "That is no reason why you should accuse me of such sentiments," I cried, rather testily. "It is only telling you that you're human." I refused to argue the matter. "Well?" I said. "What's the object of all this palaver?" "That's what I'm coming to. We can take it for granted that even if you're not anxious for me to . . . pack up, you won't be very sorry when I _have_ gone." Again I started to protest, but he stopped me. "Mind, I'm not such a fool as to blame you, for I do realize these things. So I intend altering them. I'm going to turn your inclination the other way. Not only will you _want_ me to live, but it's going to be made positively worth your while." This sounded very exciting--but I thought it just as well not to say so. I held my peace. "My plan is quite simple," he resumed. "I intend going on with this experiment and having some new glands grafted, but I must have your help--your interest--your enthusiasm behind me. It is necessary at my age to depend on someone's youthful and active support. So the day when the operation is declared successful you will receive five thousand dollars in cash." I gasped, but he went on with reckless extravagance: