" and with the prospect
of bartering more of his old self came back.

"We'll make that satisfactory, I can assure you," said Bobby. "Your
salary will be a very liberal one, I am certain, and it will begin
from to-day. First, however, you must have a good rest--a vacation
with pay, understand--and it will make you strong again. You are a
little run down."

"Yes," agreed Silas, nodding his head as the animation faded out of
his eyes. "I'm getting old. I think, Mr. Burnit, if you don't mind
I'll go into the little room there and lie on the couch for a few
minutes."

"That is a good idea," said Bobby. "You should be rested for the
meeting."

"Oh, yes," repeated Silas, nodding his head sagely; "the meeting."

They were uncomfortably silent when Bobby had returned from the little
room adjoining. The shadow of tragedy lay upon them all, and it was
out of this shadow that Bobby spoke his determination.

"I am going to get out of business," he declared. "It is a hard, hard
game. I can win at it, but--well, I'd rather go back, if I only could,
to my unsophistication of four years ago. I don't like business. Of
course, I'll keep this place for tradition's sake, and because it
would please my father--no, I mean it _will_ please him--but I'm going
to sell the _Bulletin_. I have an offer for it at an excellent profit.
I'm going to intrust the management of the electric plant to my good
friend Biff, here, with Chalmers and Johnson as starboard and larboard
bulwarks, until the stock is quoted at a high enough rating to be a
profitable sale; then I'm going to turn it into money, and add it to
the original fund. I think I shall be busy enough just looking after
and enjoying my new partnership," and he smiled down at Agnes, who
smiled back at him with a trusting admiration that needed no words to
express.

"Beg your pardon, sir," said old Johnson, "but I have a letter here
for you," and from his inside pocket he drew one of the familiar
steel-gray envelopes, which he handed to Bobby.

It was addressed:

_To My Son Bobby, Upon His Regaining His Father's Business_

The message inside was so brief that one who had not known well old
John Burnit would never have known the full, full heart out of which
he penned it:

"I knew you'd do it, dear boy. Whatever mystery I find in the
great hereafter I shall be satisfied--for I knew you'd do it."

That was all.

"Johnson," said Bobby, crumpling up the letter in his hand,