“I am sorry you are a busy man, because what I have to say can not be hurried. First, you must chase from your mind all thoughts of Wall Street, high finance, railroad systems--and fill it with love!” Mr. Merriwether looked alarmed. Would it all end with a Biblical text and an exhortation to endow some sort of a Home? “You can do this,” pursued the man, imperturbably, “by thinking of your son Tom. He is your only son. You should love him. Once your mind is attuned to thoughts of love, you will be able to understand me more easily. Concentrate on love!” The man leaned back in his chair as though he were certain the attuning process would consume an hour, this being, alas! a Wall Street man; but Merriwether said, very promptly: “I am ready for chapter two.” “I doubt it. Love! The love of father for son, of son for mother, of son for wife, of son for father!” “I understand. My mind works quickly. Go on!” “Do you by any chance happen to know that your son is in love?” “Yes. Where is the girl?” “It isn't the girl. It's just girl.” “Oh, hell! Quit vaudevilling!” “There is no girl who is the girl. There never was. There doesn't have to be any!” Quite obviously this man was a lunatic--with the eyes of a particularly sane person. If there was no girl Tom was in no danger of marriage. A million for not marrying an undesirable person, yes, but a million for a daughter-in-law, when Tom was not in love! “Only,” thought Mr. Merriwether, “in case I have the selecting of her! And if I pick her I don't have to pay.” “And yet,” said the man, musingly, “Tom loves her!” Mr. Merriwether's perplexity was fast rising to the dignity of anger. “If there had been a girl of Tom's own class,” the man went on, as if talking to himself, “why shouldn't he have been seen in public with her?” Mr. Merriwether was listening now with his soul. “And if this girl were of the other class--that financial geniuses, alas! sometimes have to accept for daughters-in-law--a nice, vivacious chorus-lady, or a refined Reno graduate, or worse--she would have insisted on being seen in public with Tom, to show her power and to raise the paternal bid-price for a trip to Europe--alone!” The man ceased to speak and began to nod his head slowly, his gaze on the rug at his feet. Mr. Merriwether could stand it no longer. “If there is no girl, what in blazes do I get for my million?” “Your pick of eight.” “Eight what?” “Eight perfect daughters-in-law!” A thought shot through Mr. Merriwether's mind: Was any form of insanity contagious? He looked at the lunatic. The eyes were sane, cold, shrewd, mind-reading eyes full of a sardonic humor. “They are all,” added the man, as if he wished to dispel unworthy suspicion, “in love.” “With Tom?” “With love--like Tom!” “With love--like Tom!” helplessly repeated Mr. E. H. Merriwether.