_I don't think he'll want to borrow money, as I know he is taking a letter of credit on Towne, Ripley & Co. for fifty thousand pounds; and they told me at his bankers'--Madison & Co.--that he owns slathers of gilt-edged bonds and that they cash the coupons for him. They also tell me he carries more cash about him than is prudent. You might suggest to him that the New York banks are safe enough. You'll find him a character--odd but charitable. Knowing your fondness for fiction in real life I commend Mr. Robison to you. Regards to the boys. Why don't you make a million and come over to spend it in the company of Yours as ever,_ Lurton P. Smiley. Richards handed the letter back. “He came here with ten ten-thousand-dollar gold certificates.” “Yes; he got 'em from Towne, Ripley & Co. I went with him. They had instructions to pay any amount he might call for, and they did. He asked for large bills.” “He got 'em!” said Richards, greatly relieved at seeing no necessity why he should refuse Robison's account. “What's he going to do?” asked Kidder. “I don't know. He told me he had found his old sweetheart and that he is going to give her all he makes in Wall Street. He expects to double the one hundred thousand dollars in a week.” “For Heaven's sake, George, find out his secret! Half a million will do for me,” laughed Kidder. “He gave me an envelope,” said Richards, taking it from his desk. On it was written: PROPERTY OF JAMES B. ROBISON To be Opened by Richards & Tuttle In Case of Sudden Death “What do you think?” asked Richards. “You really mean do I advise you to open it, don't you?” asked Kidder.. “Not exactly; but--” “Of course,” said the newspaper man, “it does not say it is _not_ to be opened in case of _living_. That is sufficient excuse--that and your curiosity.” “I don't like to open it,” said Richards, doubtfully. “Don't!” “Still, I'd like to know what's inside.” “Then open it.” “I don't think I have a right to.” “Don't, then!” “Oh, shut up! I won't open it! I don't know whether to take the account. You don't know anything about this man--” “You broker fellows make me tired--posing as careful business men. All Robison has to do is to go to any of your branch offices or anybody's branch office, say his name is W. Jones and that he keeps a cigar-store in Hackensack or Flatbush, and your branch manager will never let him get away. And afore-mentioned manager will swear, if you should be so mean as to ask who W. Jones is, that he and W. J. went to school together--known him for years!” “After all,” said Richards, a trifle defiantly, “there is no reason why I shouldn't do business for Robison that you know of?” “Not that I know of--but if he buncoes you out of a big wad don't blame me.”