“He has discovered the virtues of his uncle’s wedding gift,” said Drysdale. “His uncle’s wedding gift?” echoed Gwillam wonderingly. “Did you never hear of it?” asked Drysdale. “It was quite a subject of conversation at one time. Everyone knew of it and laughed. It was a very strange gift and it was given by a very strange old gentleman. He is dead now, but I can imagine him, if he has any knowledge of what has taken place, grinning with the keenest delight. It is just the sort of thing he would have enjoyed. “It really began,” said Drysdale, “at Craig’s wedding breakfast. You see, old Forsythe--Craig’s uncle--was delighted at Craig’s marriage. He--Forsythe--was old even then; he had a great deal more money than anyone needs; and he used to worry dreadfully about what would become of it when he was gone. To be sure he could leave it all to Craig, as he intended to do; but life is short, Craig would die, and then who would get the money? He often wished that Craig had a family of youngsters, upon whom he might settle it, so that for fifty or sixty years at least it would be safe. And when Craig became engaged to marry the old gentleman immediately made a new will and from that time on displayed a joy so open and unrestrained that it was scarcely decent. At the wedding breakfast his glee was almost childish; he became quite garrulous, and it needed constant effort to restrain him from telling stories, which, however humorous they might prove to be, were, even in their beginnings, quite evidently improper. Still, though with some difficulty, he was kept within bounds until he insisted on making a speech. As he rose from his seat, a glass of wine held unsteadily in his trembling old hand, a wicked smile on his thin old lips, a feeling of uneasiness pervaded the company, and it was very generally felt that whatever he might say, it could be very well dispensed with. But no one remonstrated. When one has a relative who is at once very wealthy and very old, it is astonishing how lenient one becomes to his little failings. “‘My dear Robert--my dear Amy,’ began old Forsythe, glancing first at Craig and then at his wife; ‘I have already given you your wedding gift as you know.’ This was quite true; the old reprobate had given them an extremely substantial check, to which he found it impossible not to make allusion. ‘But that was more or less formal--the gift dictated by convention. And I wanted to give you something intimate--something, trifling perhaps, but personal--something so appropriate that it should become part of your lives. For a long time I racked my poor old brains in vain; and then, only yesterday, I had an inspiration--quite an inspiration!’ he added fondly. “Craig and his wife exchanged glances of relief. The speech would probably pass off without disaster after all.