"You speak lightly of your own work, Macheson," Franklin said, "but there is one thing we must none of us forget. Our schools, our farms, our colonies, all our attempts, indeed, owe their very being to your open purse----" Macheson held out his hand. "Franklin," he said, "I want to tell you something which I think none of you know. I want to tell you where most of my money came from, and you'll understand then why I've been so anxious to get rid of it--or a part of it--in this way. Did you ever hear of Ferguson Davis, the money-lender? Yes, I can see by your faces you did. Well, he was my mother's brother, and he died without a will when I was a child, and the whole lot came to me!" "A million and a quarter," some one murmured. "More," Macheson answered. "I was at Oxford when I understood exactly the whole business, and it seemed like nothing but a curse to me. Then I talked to the dear old professor, and he showed me the way. I can honestly say that not one penny of that money has ever been spent, directly or indirectly, upon myself. I believe that if the old man could come to life and read my bank-book he'd have a worse fit than the one which carried him off. I appointed myself the trustee of his fortune, and it's spread pretty well all over the world. I've never refused to stand at the back of any reasonable scheme for the betterment of our fellow-creatures. There have been a few failures perhaps, but many successes. The Davis buildings are mine--in trust, of course. They've done well. I've a larger scheme on hand now on the same lines. And in spite of it all the money grows! I can't get rid of it. The old man chose his investments well, and many of our purely philanthropic schemes are beginning to pay their way. It isn't that I care a fig about the money, but you must try to make these things self-supporting, or you injure the character of those who benefit by them. Now I've told you all the truth, but don't let it go out of this room. You can consider yourselves fellow-trustees with me, if you like. Show me an honest way to use money for the real benefit of the world's unfortunates, and it's yours as much as mine." "It's magnificent," Franklin murmured. "It's justice," Macheson answered. "The money was wrung from the poor, and it goes back to them. Perhaps it's a saner distribution, for it's the improvident and shiftless of the world who go to the money-lender." There was a knock at the door. The hall-porter of the club in which they were holding their informal meeting entered and addressed Macheson. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but there is a young man here who wants to see you at once. He would not give his name, but he says that his business is urgent." "Where is he?" Macheson asked. "In the smaller strangers' room, sir."