I shall send another chart exactly like this one to Graham Stewart, of Brooklyn, who is the only other relative to survive me. This letter will be held by my attorneys until one month after the day of my death and will then be forwarded to you. I shall watch your use of it with interest, from the spirit-land. I understand that you are a frivolous, idle youth, who are not likely to seize your opportunities. Your uncle, Abner Barker. I unfolded the chart. It was a queer looking thing, carefully drawn upon yellow wrapping paper. It conjured up recollections of Stevenson's "Treasure Island" and pictures of savage-looking buccaneers, and desolate, sandy beaches. There was a square marked "_House_," with a dotted line running through the middle of it. Then there were innumerable other spots, and dots, and lines signified variously. The word "_spring_" was written at one point; "_Lone Palm Tree_" at another. In the centre of a circle, to which led dotted lines, my eyes were arrested by the words: "_Treasure buried here_." I had imagined Uncle Abner a prosaic man; now it seemed I was wrong. He was a dreamer on his sandy key; he lived with the shades of corsairs and saw ghostly galleons riding at anchor off his strip of coast. Poor old Uncle Abner! There was something grimly grotesque in the situation. One does not associate charts and buried treasure with a light noon breakfast in a clubhouse on Fifth Avenue. I think it was a flurry of cold rain upon the window which first turned my thoughts seriously toward Lone Palm Key. New York is a beastly place in a January thaw. I imagined the sun shining warmly at Palm Beach, girls in pretty summer dresses and men in tennis flannels. Then again I heard the swish of the rain against the window, and looking out, saw a cab horse slip and fall upon the asphalt. "Buried treasure or no buried treasure," I said to myself, "Uncle Abner has given me a good idea. I'll go to Florida this very afternoon." A line from Blackmar, Mathews & Blackmar's letter caught my eye: ----The only other surviving relative of Abner Barker, namely Graham Stewart, of Brooklyn, N.Y.---- Who was Graham Stewart? I had never heard of him before. Most probably a relative on the other side of Uncle Abner's family. Had he received his letter? Perhaps even now he was hurrying South ahead of me! I had Henry look up trains at once and sent word upstairs to have my trunk and bag packed with nice, summery things for Florida. An hour later, as I drove to the 23rd Street Ferry, and saw the cold rain streaking down the carriage windows, I felt genuinely grateful to old Uncle Abner for bequeathing me this excellent excuse for getting out of town.