aid it on Mr.
Chelm's desk.

"My name is Prime, sir,--Francis Prime. I have come to consult you on a
business matter."

"Pray sit down, Mr. Prime. What is it I can do for you?"

"You knew my father, I think?"

"Ralph Prime, of New York? Most assuredly. I had a high regard for
him."

"I am his only son. He died, as you may be aware, five years ago in
reduced circumstances, because he preferred to remain honest. An odd
erratic choice, was it not?"

"I was sorry to hear he had been unfortunate," answered Mr. Chelm
quietly.

"Yes, sir, paradoxical as it may seem, my father was an honest man. One
might have supposed his only son would inherit that trait, if nothing
else. But it must have skipped a generation. I am not what I seem. I am
a sham." He sat in silence for some minutes stroking his mustache.

"I judge that you have got into some difficulty, Mr. Prime. If so, I am
very sorry to hear it. Be frank with me, and as your father's friend I
will do what I can for you. But as a lawyer I must ask you to conceal
nothing." So saying Mr. Chelm made a move as if to close the door.

"Pray, do not trouble yourself, sir. My story is already known to so
many people that privacy is immaterial. Let me, instead, ask permission
to light a cigarette,--that is, if you do not object to smoking and are
sufficiently at leisure to hear me to the end."

"Certainly. Make it a cigar and I will join you; and pray try one of
these if you will, for my time is quite at your disposal," answered Mr.
Chelm, who it was evident to me was amused and puzzled by his visitor.

"Thank you." He settled himself comfortably in his chair, and after a
preliminary puff, said: "I am no ordinary felon. I am even not, strictly
speaking, amenable to the laws. I am however, as I have told you
already, a sham. The world believes me to be a young fellow of fortune,
whose only concern is with the cut of his coat and the smile of his
mistress. The world for once is in error. I am nothing of the sort.
Appearances are against me, I admit. Even you I fancy were deceived. No,
my dear sir, while every one judges me to be a mere butterfly of
fashion, I am an idealist at heart. And the worst of it is that no one
will believe me. All that I want is a chance, an opportunity to prove I
am that which I claim; but nobody will give it to me. If I venture to
suggest that I am in earnest, the statement excites sneers or ridicule.
For nearly two years I have been trying to fi