"Un'stand! Well!" exclaimed Gayne. "I'm a man o' brains I'll have you know." "Well, if you've got any, use 'em now," said Blake impatiently. "There ain't any money in a mineral spring unless you've got piles o' dough to put it on the market. Don't you know that?" "I sh'd say so," nodded Gayne, triumphant again. "That's just what I'm goin' to have: piles o' dough. Bushels." "Where are you goin' to get it?" "Well, I'll tell you, Matt, 'cause you're a good friend and you know how to hold your tongue. That boy out there, that poor numskull is the heir to a big enough fortune to f'nance twenty springs." "He is?" returned Blake, astonished. "What do you mean?" "His grandfather is one of the richest men in Boston. Went to see him once. Took my proofs with me. Wouldn't look at 'em. Turned me out. He's sick as the devil. Always travelin' 'round tryin' to get well. I wouldn't--I would not give him one cup o' this water." Gayne gestured impressively as he made the ferocious declaration. "Just come home from Europe now. Saw it in the paper," he added. "Then he'll leave his money where it won't do you any good," said Blake. "I'll break the will. I've thought it all out. I'm a man o' brains. Bert'll get the money." "Perhaps the boy won't want to spend it on springs." A crafty change came over Gayne's face and he smiled. "He won't have any say. I'm his guardian, ain't I? And he's non compos, ain't he? He'll be put where he belongs, believe me." "You'll shut him up, do you mean?" asked Blake, frowning. "F'r his own good. You understand?" "Your guardian angel suggested that to you, too, probably." "Prob'bly did, Matt," was the pious reply. "If all his kind was shut up there'd be less crime in the papers. I put it off and put it off, but I ought to do it and do it soon." The carpenter regarded the speaker in silence for some moments. Gayne's eyes were closing and opening sleepily. "Now, see here, man. You go in the house and sleep this off. I'll take the boy down-along with me." "I won't allow it," Gayne shook his head. "Women at the house pamperin' him. I won't have it. He'll stay where I am till I get him settled for life." "I'm goin' to take the boy along with me," repeated Blake, speaking louder. "You're in no state for him to see you. Where'd you get your stuff, anyway?" "Chemist p'esc'iption," said Gayne, as his companion drew him along at as swift a pace as possible. "Well, next time, drink out o' your own mud puddle. I think it comes from the lower regions, anyway. You might as well be getting used to it." Gayne laughed, but rather feebly. He was beginning to wonder just what he had said to his friend. Matt got him into the house and into the lop-sided armchair where he had found him, and he fell asleep at once. Then the carpenter took the partly filled glass from the table and held it up to the light.