er-denying,
palsied head. Amos did not reply. The chauffeur was taking his seat in
the car. "Ain't I paid my share in the church? Ain't I give parks to the
city? Ain't I had family prayers for fifty years? Ain't I been a praying
member all my life nearly? Ain't I supported missions? Why," he panted,
"is it put on me to die without a son to bear my name and take care of
my property? I made over two millions to him the other day. But why,
Amos," the old man's voice was broken and he whimpered, "has the Lord
sent this to Morty?"

Amos did not reply, but the big voice of Grant spoke very softly: "Uncle
Dan, Morty's got tuberculosis--you know that. Tuberculosis has made you
twenty per cent. interest for twenty years--those hothouses for
consumption of yours in the Valley. But it's cost the poor scores and
scores of lives. Morty has it." Grant's voice rose solemnly. "Vengeance
is mine sayeth the Lord, I will repay. You've got your interest, and the
Lord has taken his toll."

The old man showed his colorless gums as he opened a raging mouth.

"You--you--eh, you blasphemer!" He shook as with a chill and screamed,
"But we've got you now--we'll fix you!"

The car for Harvey came, and the Adamses climbed in.

Amos Adams, sitting on the hard seat of the street car looking into the
moonlight, considered seriously his brother-in-law, and his low estate.
That he had to be helped into his limousine, that he had to be wrapped
up like a baby, that his head was palsied and his hands fluttering,
seemed strange and rather inexplicable to Amos. He counted Daniel a
young man, four years his junior, barely seventy-nine; a man who should
be in his prime. Amos did not realize that his legs had been kept supple
by climbing on and off a high printer's stool hourly for fifty years,
and that his body had buffeted the winds of the world unprotected all
those years and had kept fit. But Daniel Sands's sad case seemed
pathetic to the elder Adams and he cut into some rising stream of
conversation from Grant and the Bowmans inadvertently with: "Poor
Daniel--Morty doomed, and Daniel himself looking like the breaking up of
a hard winter--poor Daniel! He doesn't seem to have got the hang of
things in this world; he can't seem to get on some way. I'm sorry for
Daniel, Grant; he might have made quite a man if he'd not been fooled by
money."

Clearly Amos was meditating aloud; no one replied and the talk flowed
on. But the old man looked into the moonli