ill tell you why; and don't be
impatient, but listen to me for a few minutes. A number of years ago
uncle left me in New Orleans and went on one of his trips to South
America. He had not been gone long when yellow fever broke out. It was
unusually fatal, and the city, though long accustomed to the disease,
was panic-stricken. I was one of the early victims. Every member of
the family I boarded with died within a week, and I was left in the
house alone. This man, this peculiar fellow, Nat Parker, found me,
took charge of me and did not leave me until I was out of danger. Of
course, there was no way to reward him--you can merely stammer your
gratitude to the man who has saved your life. He told me that the time
might come when I could do him a good turn. Well, I met him the other
day in New Orleans, and I incidentally spoke of my intention to sell
my paper. He said that he would buy it. I told him that I would make
him a present of it, but he resentfully replied that he was not a
beggar. I came back with him to Chicago, and afraid that any
interference might offend him, I told you that you should have
nothing to do with the transaction. He has an ambition to become known
as a newspaper man, and he foolishly believes that I am a great
journalist. So he declares that for three months he must serve under
me. What could I say? Could I tell him that I would dispose of the
paper to some one else? I was compelled to accept his terms. I
insisted that he should live with us during the time, but he objected.
He swore that he must not be introduced to any of my people--to be
petted like a dog that has saved a child's life. And there's the
situation."

Witherspoon's cigar had fallen to the floor. Some time elapsed before
he spoke, and when he did speak there was an unnatural softness in his
voice. "Strange story," he said. "No wonder you are peculiar when you
have been thrown among such peculiar people. If your friend were a
sane man, we could deal with him in a sensible manner, but as he is
not we must let him have his way. But suppose that at the end of three
months he is tired of the paper?"

"I will sell it or give it away. But there'll be no trouble about
that. It's a valuable piece of property, and I will swear to you that
if at the end of that time Henry Witherspoon does not go into the
Colossus with his father, it will be the father who keeps him out. Now
promise me that you won't worry."

Witherspoon got up and took Henr