“Your name Simmonds?” he asked, with a grimy thumb indicating the signature on the letter he extended for the lawyer’s inspection. “Yes, sir,” barked the lawyer with severity. “Who gave you that name?” inquired Jimmie in a spirit of levity. “What is that?” returned the lawyer. Jimmie recalled himself to his position. “Oh,” said he, “I want to know whether this thing is a fake or not.” The lawyer extended a hand like a rat-trap, and snapped the letter toward him. “Certainly not,” he said with decision. “Certainly not. You have been left, through his dying intestate, by your maternal uncle, the sum of five thousand dollars, as I have acquainted you in this letter.” The lawyer coughed the cough of consequence. “This amount is in my care; in fact, it is deposited in my bank, awaiting your orders.” Jimmie leaned heavily on the office-boy to support himself. “You don’t look it,” he said to the lawyer, “but are you addicted to the use and abuse of strong things of any kind?” “Sir!” said the lawyer. “I slipped my trolley,” said Jimmie. “I didn’t know I had any maternal uncle. I didn’t know he had five thousand dollars. I don’t know where he got it, and I don’t know where I am, nor why you are here, nor anything else.” He roused himself. “Say,” said he, “if you ain’t got me down here to enjoy my looks, produce.” “Hey?” said the lawyer. “Yes,” said Jimmie, “just that. Hay; make it while the sun shines. Clear weather to-day. I don’t savvy this thing, up nor down. You let me have two hundred dollars, and it will look like business. All I want to do is to feel it. I have been trying to feel two hundred dollars for three years, and the nearest I have got to it is on the instalment plan.” The lawyer pushed him a book. “Make out a check,” said he. Jimmie swallowed all the air in the room, but yet made out the check. The lawyer looked at the check in the most detached fashion, called a man and handed him the slip of paper. The man seemed weary. He took the piece of paper, walked toward an actual safe, opened a drawer with a real key and pulled out from its secret hiding-place a bunch, or, as it seemed to Jimmie, a whole head, of that tender, crisp, succulent plant, the long green. With a wet thumb the weary man shredded off a certain number of leaves, and, showing disgust of life in every feature, placed them on the lawyer’s desk. The lawyer eyed them glumly, wrapped them up with a practised hand, and shoved them to Jimmie. “There you are, sir,” he said. “Anything else?” “No,” said Jimmie dreamily. “No, nothing else.”