neral
unpleasantness.

"You can all go away," cried Mrs. Dodd, shrilly. "There's two one-dollar
bills here, two quarters, an' two nickels an' eight pennies. 'T aint
nothin' to be fit over."

"But the letter," suggested Mr. Perkins, hopefully. "Is there not a letter
from dear Uncle Ebeneezer? Let us gather around the box in a reverent
spirit and listen to dear Uncle Ebeneezer's last words."

"You can read 'em," snapped Mrs. Holmes, "if you're set on hearing."

Uncle Israel wheezed so loudly that for the moment he drowned the deep
purr of Claudius Tiberius. When quiet was restored, Mr. Perkins broke the
seal of the envelope and unfolded the communication within. Uncle Israel
held the dripping candle on one side and Mrs. Smithers the smoking lantern
on the other, while near by, Dick watched the midnight assembly with an
unholy glee which, in spite of his efforts, nearly became audible.

"How beautiful," said Mr. Perkins, "to think that dear Uncle Ebeneezer's
last words should be given to us in this unexpected but original way."

"Shut up," said Mrs. Smithers, emphatically, "and read them last words.
I'm gettin' the pneumony now, that's wot I am."

"You're the only one," chirped Mrs. Dodd, hysterically. "The money in this
here box is all old." It was, indeed. Mr. Judson seemed to have purposely
chosen ragged bills and coins worn smooth.

"'Dear Relations,'" began Mr. Perkins. "'As every one of you have at one
time or another routed me out of bed to let you in when you have come to
my house on the night train, and always uninvited----'"

"I never did," interrupted Mrs. Holmes. "I always came in the daytime."

"Nobody ain't come at night," explained Mrs. Smithers, "since 'e fixed the
'ouse over into a face. One female fainted dead away when 'er started up
the hill and see it a-winkin' at 'er, yes sir, that's wot 'er did!"

"'It seems only fitting and appropriate,'" continued Mr. Perkins, "'that
you should all see how it seems.'" The poet wiped his massive brow with
his soiled handkerchief. "Dear uncle!" he commented.

"Yes," wheezed Uncle Israel, "'dear uncle!' Damn his stingy old soul," he
added, with uncalled-for emphasis.

"It gives me pleasure to explain in this fashion my disposal of my
estate," the reader went on, huskily.

"Of all the connection on both sides, there is only one that has never
been to see me, unless I've forgotten some, and that is my beloved nephew,
James Harlan Carr."

"Him," creaked