ohn
Benham was for years the man of mystery of Wall Street. Queer old
bird! Friend of the governor's, or at least as much of a friend of the
governor's as he ever was of anybody. Made a pot of money in
railroads. Millions! Of course, if you've never heard of Benham you've
never heard of the Wall."

I hadn't.

"Well, the Benham Wall in Greene County is one of the wonders of the
age. It's nine feet high, built of solid masonry and encloses five
thousand acres of land."

Figures meant nothing to me and I told him so.

"The strange thing about it is that there's no mystery at all. The old
man had no secrets except in business and no past that anybody could
care about. But he was a cold-blooded proposition. No man ever had
his confidence, no woman ever had his affection except his wife, and
when she died all that was human in him was centered on his son, the
sole heir to twenty millions. Lucky little beggar. What?"

"I'm not so sure," I put in slowly.

"Now this is where you come in," Ballard went on quickly. "It seems
that inside his crusty shell old Benham was an idealist of sorts with
queer ideas about the raising of children. His will is a wonder. He
directs his executors (the governor's one of six, you know) to bring
up his boy inside that stone wall at Horsham Manor, with no knowledge
of the world except what can be gotten from an expurgated edition of
the classics. He wants him brought to manhood as nearly as can be
made, a perfect specimen of the human male animal without one thought
of sex. It's a weird experiment, but I don't see why it shouldn't be
interesting."

"Interesting!" I muttered, trying to conceal my amazement and delight.

"The executors must proceed at once. The boy is still under the care
of a governess. On the twelfth of December he will be ten years of
age. The woman is to go and a man takes her place. I think I can put
you in. Will you take it?"

"I?" I said, a little bewildered. "What makes you think I'm qualified
for such an undertaking?"

"Because you were the best scholar in the class, and because you're a
blessed philosopher with leanings toward altruism. A poor helpless
little millionaire with no one to lean on must certainly excite your
pity. You're just the man for the job, I tell you. And if you said
you'd do it, you'd put it over."

"And if I couldn't put it over?" I laughed. "A growing youth isn't a
fifteen-pound shot or a football, Ballard."

"You could if you wanted to