"no—no, my boy—this is on me!" protested mr. cooley, drawing a wad of money from his vest pocket and carelessly tossing a hundred-franc note across the counter.

while the cockney bartender of the english tavern in the champs elysées counted out the change, tod, with an unsteady hand, raised to his lips the glass of foaming, sparkling clicquot.

"here's to uncle dick—bless him!"

"amen!" responded mr. cooley fervently.

the regular frequenters of the place, jockeys, bookmakers, racing touts, and other persons of dubious appearance and pursuits who make up that queer riffraff of british sporting characters always found drifting about the french metropolis, either flush after recent winnings at longchamps or out at elbow from an extraordinary run of ill luck—all these worthies nudged each other and grinned as they watched the two americans. there was no doubt in everyone's mind as to the nationality of the strangers. only yankees could afford the luxury of opening "fizz" so early in the day. what the onlookers did not know, of course, was that an event of exceptional importance had brought the two americans together on this particular morning and that tod chase and bascom cooley, the well-known new york lawyer, were celebrating an auspicious event by "setting 'em up." otherwise there would be little excuse for loitering in the small, stuffy barroom, with its pungent odor of stale beer and atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke, when the call of the beautiful world without was so strong.

it was a glorious spring morning, one of those perfect days when paris, decked in her loveliest raiment, is seen at her best. under the shade of the fine oak trees lining the entire length of the noble avenue were dozens of buxom nou-nous, attractive in their neat caps and long streamer ribbons. they sat knitting and gossiping while their daintily dressed charges, happy and healthy, romped noisily in the bright sunshine. out in the broad, immaculately clean roadway, a heavy three-horse omnibus porte maillot-hôtel de ville creaked its way up to the place de l'etoile.

todhunter chase was not a bad-looking boy. there was something about him which at once attracted the stranger. small hours and cold bottles had spoiled his complexion somewhat, and the vernacular and usages of the tenderloin had not improved his speech and manners. but people overlooked his foibles because of his intense good nature. nothing could down that. always smiling, always jolly, ever ready to go out of his way to oblige a friend, it was little wonder that he was popular. his features were well cut and his athletic, well-knit figure was well groomed. with his frank, engaging personality and more than average intelligence, there was no career in which he might not have done himself credit. but unfortunately for tod, he was afflicted with matritis. in other words, his mother was solely to blame for his having reached the age of twenty-five without earning as much as the price of a celluloid collar button. selfish and short sighted, as are many mothers with growing sons, the then mrs. chase had preferred to have her boy dangling at her skirts rather than see him prepare himself seriously to battle with the world. after leaving college without honors, he made a half-hearted effort to get something to do. he tried a dozen things and succeeded in none. utterly unable to concentrate on any one thing he failed miserably in everything. office routine he found irksome; discipline intolerable. so, for several years he just drifted, leading a lazy, irresponsible life that soon rendered him unfit for anything, more than gambling or carousing with his cronies. as he grew older he acquired more sense, but then it was too late. his mother at times worried about it, but more often took it philosophically. as long as the money held out, there was enough for her boy. there was plenty of time to think of his future. tod was so popular that he would be sure to marry well. he would get some rich girl whose father would take him in as partner. then he would find a position in life ready made. there was no hurry. besides, would they not be rich themselves one day? thus had tod's career, also, been marred in a measure by the same dazzling "prospects" which had ruined his stepfather!

he was weak and he had been foolish, yet at heart tod was not a bad sort. a little wild, perhaps, as are most boys of his age and opportunities, but by no means a fool. anyone who took him for lacking in gray matter would make a serious mistake. his moral sense was blunted and his environments were bad—that was all. the fundamentals were good and when a man's fundamentals are good his case is never quite hopeless.

always in buoyant spirits, to-day tod felt especially jubilant. things certainly seemed to have changed for the better. he had been in paris only two weeks, and he had already secured the american agency of two of the most important french automobile makers, and on top of this unlooked-for success had come the surprising news from home that john marsh was dead at last. the event so long waited for had actually happened. too much good fortune is bad for anyone, and for the last few hours tod had been celebrating not wisely, but too well. his face was flushed and his speech thick as he went on:

"the old gentleman must have been a decent sort to cash in just now. it couldn't have come at a better moment. things at home were getting pretty queer. jimmy will be simply tickled to death!"

his companion, a big, heavily built, coarse-looking man, considerably his senior in years, pursed his lips and nodded.

"i guess you're not sorry," he said dryly.

"hang it! cooley, why should i care?" cried tod explosively. "he was nothing to me. i never even saw him. yet—do you know—i sometimes felt a sneaking respect for the old man for the delicious way he snubbed jimmy. no doubt he was disgusted with him long ago. you know he wouldn't see him or have anything to do with him. i guess he knew him better than any of us. jimmy's the limit—there's no doubt of that. i'm no saint myself, but i know when to stop. the mater must have been wuzzy when she married him. she's had a peck of trouble with him—you've no idea! of course this windfall puts everything right. i'd have given a couple of hundred to have seen jimmy's face when he opened your cable."

mr. cooley smiled grimly.

"yes—i guess he didn't sleep much that night. he's waited long enough."

"waited!" ejaculated the other. "why, he has thought of nothing else—sleeping or waking. if anything should happen to rob him of that inheritance i think it would kill him."

"ain't much chance of that," replied the lawyer, puffing out his chest. "i drew up the will. when bascom cooley attends to a thing, it's likely to be for keeps. the will was witnessed and executed right in my presence, so there isn't any question about it. the will is now in our safe-deposit vaults. that is why i must go back immediately. nothing can be done until i return. by the time i reach new york, the funeral will be over. then we can read the will."

bascom cooley, who for many years had looked after the late john marsh's interests, and to-day was one of jimmy marsh's closest cronies, was one of the most widely known criminal lawyers in the united states. his reputation was not of the best, but he was prosperous and the world forgives much to the successful man. shrewd, utterly unprincipled, all kinds of questionable yet profitable legal business came his way, and thanks to a brilliant talent, and a domineering, blustering manner which intimidated judge and jury alike, he usually contrived to score a victory for his client. it is true that only the guilty went to him. law breakers knew that if bascom cooley could not help them escape the consequences of their misdeeds no one else could. he was known to be a crooked lawyer. corrupt practices, flagrant dishonesty, shameless perjury of which he had been guilty had often been hinted at, yet none dare attack him openly. his mysterious influence with the big political leaders made him a man to be feared. it was cooley's boast that the law could not touch him. when it was seen that by the powerful influence behind him he could break policemen, smother indictments, muzzle the authorities, and make and unmake judges at will, the public began to believe him.

he was born in new york city, of irish parents. his father was a policeman who, thanks to political pull, was able to reach a captaincy. his salary and perquisites enabled him to give his son a better education than he himself had received, and when it came to the choosing of a career, bascom decided on law. he was admitted to the bar and began practice in the ninth ward where he had the advantage of his father's influence. a chip of the old block, he realized early in life the power of money. he resolved to be successful, no matter by what means, and with this determination constantly in mind it is not surprising that he soon became involved in all kinds of shady schemes, all looking to the fattening of his bank roll. in a single notorious real-estate deal—the purchase of land for the purpose of a public park—he robbed the city of nearly $250,000. that is to say, it was shown that the price the city was compelled to pay for the land was exactly $250,000 more than it was worth. not that he himself got all the money. he did not expect that. more than half of the spoils in the gigantic, bare-faced steal, went to the men higher up, to those in the inner ring of boodle politicians, a shameless coterie of rascals who at once brought to bear all the power of the system to shield bascom cooley from prosecution and themselves from exposure and disgrace. laughing at threats of disbarment, snapping his fingers at the hue and cry in the newspapers, mr. cooley went his way, stealing, perjuring himself, openly defying public opinion.

the news of john marsh's death was most welcome to mr. cooley. he was taking a vacation in europe and enjoying the sights of paris when his new york office notified him of what had occurred, and he cabled that he would return at once. for a long time the wily attorney had had his eye on the marsh millions. otherwise, how explain his close friendship for jimmy marsh? such a poor, weak fool could have nothing in common with the famous lawyer whose brain teemed only with big schemes. if he tolerated jimmy, and dined and wined him and got him elected at his club when no other club would admit him, it was with a purpose distinctly machiavellian in view. when jimmy's financial affairs reached an acute crisis it was always mr. cooley who obligingly bridged the chasm. jimmy, as already hinted, had borrowed freely on his prospects. cooley was nearly always the lender. now the time had come to settle, and mr. cooley promised himself not only to get back his own, plus interest, but a substantial bonus besides. he knew a few things about jimmy marsh—things jimmy would rather not have the world, and especially the yellow newspapers, know. and no doubt jimmy would pay up like a man. the money had come at a most convenient time. he had some big deals on hand and needed cash badly. things could not have turned out better. he would go back at once and get in touch with things. it was while he was hurrying from his hotel to go and secure his passage home by the first steamer that he stumbled across tod, who cheerfully accepted his invitation to drink to the health of the inheritance.

tod, who had been silent for a few minutes, apparently lost in thought, suddenly blurted out:

"what gets me is that the old man left jimmy any money at all! they never saw each other. the old man utterly disapproved of his brother's way of living, and had nothing to do with him."

"there was no one else to whom he could leave it—that's why," replied the lawyer. "john marsh," he went on, "was a peculiar man. he was distant and reserved, i might say secretive—even with me, his legal adviser. no one knew the real workings of his mind. i drew up his will according to a rough draft, written by him."

"when was that?"

"twenty-five years ago."

tod gave vent to an expressive whistle.

"so jimmy has been waiting twenty-five years?"

"yes," said the lawyer, "twenty-five years—the average span of human life."

"suppose he has made another will since? did jimmy ever think of that?"

mr. cooley shrugged his shoulders.

"no—no danger of that. why should he? if he had, wouldn't i know of it? i have always remained on the best of terms with the old gentleman. i have attended to other legal business for him, so if he did change his mind in regard to the disposition of his estate, why wouldn't he come to me? no, i don't think so. he kept aloof from his brother, but it's no more than he did from anyone else. the man was eccentric—peculiar—you must let it go at that."

"what was the old beggar worth? have you any idea?"

"twenty years ago he was several times a millionaire. what he has done with the money, how he has invested it, i can't say. but he was no spendthrift. there'll be enough to go round, i promise you that." draining his glass, he added: "i suppose you'll give up this automobile business now, and go back and do some fancy figure skating on broadway. there's more fun in that, eh?"

tod shook his head.

"no—cooley—you're wrong. like everyone else, you think i'm crazy for money. but i'm not—honest to god! i've had my fling and i'm through. i'm sick of broadway, its rotten men and painted women. i'm sick of that idle, stupid existence which stifles every decent impulse a fellow may have. it's always the same, the same crowd, the same drinks and stunts, the same old headache the next morning. i tell you i'm through with that sort of life. i believe i was intended for something better, and, by god, i'm going to make the effort! these last two weeks i've actually respected myself because i've succeeded in making my board bill. let jimmy and mater enjoy the money. i want none of it. i tell you i'm going to win out by myself. you see if i don't! here—have another drink!"

the lawyer laughed. this kind of talk from tod was something entirely new. he wondered how much the champagne was responsible for it.

"shall you go back to new york?" he asked.

"oh, i suppose so," replied tod carelessly. "i ought to go on general principles. i only came here on a brief visit."

"i sail to-morrow on the adriatic," said the lawyer. "come with me."

the young man shook his head.

"that's out of the question. i still have some business to attend to. i may go saturday on the touraine."

"oh, then you'll be right behind me. i'll let them know you're on the way home."

"tell jimmy not to have all the money spent before i get there," grinned tod.

the lawyer made a move towards the door.

"well— i must be off. it's late, and i've a lot to attend to. i have to go to the palais-royal first. are you going my way?"

a moment later they were on the avenue hailing a cab. the cocher, aroused by the promise of an extra pourboire, drove off briskly in the direction of the rue de rivoli, and soon they were rolling smoothly along that street of wonderful arcades. passing the gilded gates of the tuileries gardens they soon came abreast of the louvre. tod glanced up at the gloomy, time-discolored walls.

"that's one place i must take in before i leave paris. not that i know one picture from another. ever been there?"

mr. cooley gave a snort of disapproval.

"naw," he grunted. "i've no time to spend in sepulchres. i prefer the bal tabarin myself."