In no way was Norman's luck superior to most men's more splendidly than in that his inborn tendency to arrogant and extravagant desires was matched by an inborn capacity to get the necessary money. His luxurious tastes were certainly not moderated by his associations--enormously rich people who, while they could be stingy enough in some respects, at the same time could and did fling away fortunes in gratifying selfish whims--for silly showy houses, for retinues of wasteful servants, for gewgaws that accentuated the homeliness of their homely women and coarsened and vulgarized their pretty women--or perhaps for a night's gambling or entertaining, or for the forced smiles and contemptuous caresses of some belle of the other world. Norman fortunately cared not at all for the hugely expensive pomp of the life of the rich; if he had, he would have hopelessly involved himself, as after all he was not a money-grubber but a lawyer. But when there appeared anything for which he did care, he was ready to bid for it like the richest of the rich. Therefore the investment of a few thousand dollars seemed a small matter to him. He had many a time tossed away far more for far less. He did not dole out the sum he had agreed to provide. He paid it into the Jersey City bank to the credit of the Chemical Research Company and informed its secretary and treasurer that she could draw freely against it. "If you will read the by-laws of the company," said he, "you will see that you've the right to spend exactly as you see fit. When the money runs low, let me know." "I'll be very careful," said Dorothea Hallowell, secretary and treasurer. "That's precisely what we don't want," replied he. He glanced round the tiny parlor of the cottage. "We want everything to be run in first-class shape. That's the only way to get results. First of all, you must take a proper house--a good-sized one, with large grounds--room for building your father a proper laboratory." Her dazed and dazzled expression delighted him. "And you must live better. You must keep at least two servants." "But we can't afford it." "Your father has five thousand a year. You have fifteen hundred. That makes sixty-five hundred. The rent of the house and the wages and keep of the servants are a charge against the corporation. So, you can well afford to make yourselves comfortable." "I haven't got used to the idea as yet," said Dorothea. "Yes--we _are_ better off than we were." "And you must live better. I want you to get some clothes--and things of that sort." She shrank within herself and sat quiet, her gaze fixed upon her hands lying limp in her lap. "There is no reason why your father shouldn't be made absolutely comfortable and happy. That's the way to get the best results from a man of his sort." She faded on toward the self-effacing blank he had first known. "Think it out, Dorothy," he said in his frankest, kindliest way. "You'll see I'm right." "No," she said. "No? What does that mean?"