. Used by permission.

XXIV

THE PHILANTHROPIST'S CHRISTMAS[Q]

JAMES WEBER LINN

"DID you see this committee yesterday, Mr. Mathews?" asked the
philanthropist. His secretary looked up.

"Yes, sir."

"You recommend them then?"

"Yes, sir."

"For fifty thousand?"

"For fifty thousand--yes, sir."

"Their corresponding subscriptions are guaranteed?"

"I went over the list carefully, Mr. Carter. The money is promised, and
by responsible people."

"Very well," said the philanthropist. "You may notify them, Mr. Mathews,
that my fifty thousand will be available as the bills come in."

"Yes, sir."

Old Mr. Carter laid down the letter he had been reading, and took up
another. As he perused it his white eyebrows rose in irritation.

"Mr. Mathews!" he snapped.

"Yes, sir?"

"You are careless, sir!"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter?" questioned the secretary, his face
flushing.

The old gentleman tapped impatiently the letter he held in his hand.

"Do you pay no attention, Mr. Mathews, to my rule that _no_ personal
letters containing appeals for aid are to reach me? How do you account
for this, may I ask?"

"I beg your pardon," said the secretary again. "You will see, Mr.
Carter, that that letter is dated three weeks ago. I have had the
woman's case carefully investigated. She is undoubtedly of good
reputation, and undoubtedly in need; and as she speaks of her father as
having associated with you, I thought perhaps you would care to see her
letter."

"A thousand worthless fellows associated with me," said the old man,
harshly. "In a great factory, Mr. Mathews, a boy works alongside of the
men he is put with; he does not pick and choose. I dare say this woman
is telling the truth. What of it? You know that I regard my money as a
public trust. Were my energy, my concentration, to be wasted by
innumerable individual assaults, what would become of them? My fortune
would slip through my fingers as unprofitably as sand. You understand,
Mr. Mathews? Let me see no more individual letters. You know that Mr.
Whittemore has full authority to deal with them. May I trouble you to
ring? I am going out."

A man appeared very promptly in answer to the bell.

"Sniffen, my overcoat," said the philanthropist.

"It is 'ere, sir," answered Sniffen, helping the thin old man into the
great fur folds.

"There is no word of the dog, I suppose, Sniffen?"

"None, sir. The police was here again yesterday, sir, but