“Papa seemed to think it would be very wise to ask you to take care of it, and pay me the income, I can’t have the principal till I’m twenty-five.” “You must tie it up some way, Peter, or Dot will make ducks and drakes of it. She has about as much idea of the value of money as she has of the value of foreigners. When we had our villa at Florence, she supported the entire pauper population of the city.” Peter had declined heretofore the care of trust funds. But it struck him that this was really a chance—from a business standpoint, entirely! It is true, the amount was only ninety two thousand, and, as a trust company would handle that sum of money for four hundred and odd dollars, he was bound to do the same; and this would certainly not pay him for his time. “Sometimes, however,” said Peter to himself, “these, trusteeships have very handsome picking’s, aside from the half per cent.” Peter did not say that the “pickings,” as they framed themselves in his mind, were sundry calls on him at his office, and a justifiable reason at all times for calling on Leonore; to say nothing of letters and other unearned increment. So Peter was not obstinate this time. “It’s such a simple matter that I can have the papers drawn while you wait, if you’ve half an hour to spare.” Peter did this, thinking it would keep them longer, but later it occurred to him it would have been better to find some other reason, and leave the papers, because then Leonore would have had to come again soon. Peter was not quite as cool and far-seeing as he was normally. He regretted his error the more when they all took his suggestion that they go into his study. Peter rang for his head clerk, and explained what was needed with great rapidity, and then left the latter and went into the study. “I wonder what he’s in such a hurry for?” said the clerk, retiring with the papers. When Peter entered the library he found Leonore and Watts reposing in chairs, and Dennis standing in front of them, speaking. This was what Dennis was saying: