"You know they've been in bad lines," he said, looking on the ground, a rather pathetic figure in his ill-fitting, haphazard agglomeration of garments, none harmonizing with its neighbour. "They'd come almost to a crust, gentlemen, and such of you as are business men know upon what they depend. That was cut off something over a week ago. I was passing this morning, and was called in hurriedly. This is good news of one of our best citizens, therefore I give it to you. Major had had an attack with his heart, brought on by excitement caused by the morning's mail. I straightened him out, then Julia told me all about it. Most of you will remember Arthur Dudley, Major's brother. He's been away for a score of years, and they lost him, totally. Thought him dead. This morning Tom got a letter from a lawyer in St. Louis, with a check in it for two thousand dollars. Major's brother was on his way back here. He took sick in St. Louis, sent for this lawyer, died, and the money came on." "Whose money?--What money?" exclaimed Uncle Billy Hoonover, hastening up at that moment in time to catch the last words. Doctor Kale promptly growled something about an engagement, and departed with the same haste which marked his approach. The paper by the wall was lowered once more, revealing a hawk nose, bushy brows and sharp eyes. "I told you, gentlemen, Mr. Hoonover would arrive!" the thin voice of Colonel Whitley declared. "Good morning, Mr. Hoonover!" "What's that sour old coon been tellin' you?" demanded Uncle Billy, bearing down upon old Tim Mellowby, who had inadvertently occupied his chair, "Git up! Don't you know that's my seat?" He made a half threatening movement with his staff, but old Tim slid off his perch good-naturedly and sought the ground instead, no more chairs being available. Judge Colver thereupon essayed, in his longwinded, heavy way, to impart to the new arrival the story they had just heard. Uncle Billy listened with becoming patience for one of his excitable temperament. "Well, 'pon my soul!" he ejaculated, when the recital was done. "Things happen nowadays as queer as Jonah an' the whale! Arthur--an' who'd 'a' thought?--two thousand dollars! He's a stiff old codger, but nobody c'n say anything ag'in 'im! He's got a right to live by hisself an' not neighbour any." "Is Dink up yit?" asked a very sober looking, lank individual, who up to this moment had remained silent. He was the jailer. The question, simple as it was, proved an unlucky one, for the ire of Uncle Billy arose at once. He began to thump the earth with his staff and comb his whiskers with his fingers. "Ain't I late this mornin'?" he demanded, instead of making direct reply to the question. "Oughtn't I 'a' been here a half-n-hour ago?" He glared from one to the other as though daring them to refute it. Each person present maintained a discreet silence, though one or two nodded acquiescence.