regular fellow’s prospects and aims in life.  He trusted that Payson Clifford, Senior, had left a sufficient estate to enable Payson, Junior, to complete his education at Harvard?—­He forgot, he confessed just what the residue amounted to.  Then he turned to the fire, kicked it, knocked the ash off the end of his stogy and waited—­in order to give his guest a chance to come to himself,—­for Mr. Payson Clifford had suddenly turned a curious color, due to the fact that he was unexpectedly confronted with the necessity of definitely deciding then and there whether he was going to line up with the regular fellows or the second raters, the gentlemen or the cads, the C.J.  Foxes or the Benedict Arnolds of mankind.  He wasn’t wholly the real thing, a conceited young ass, if you choose, but on the other hand he wasn’t by any means a bad sort.  In short, he was very much like all the rest of us.  And he wasn’t ready to sign the pledge just yet.  He realized that he had put himself at a disadvantage, but he wasn’t going to commit himself until he had had a good chance to think it all over carefully.  In thirty seconds he was sober as a judge—­and a sober judge at that.

“Mr. Tutt,” he said in quite a different tone of voice.  “I’ve been talking pretty big, I guess,—­bigger than I really am.  The fact is I’ve got a problem of my own that’s bothering me a lot.”

Mr. Tutt nodded understandingly.

“You mean Sadie Burch.”

“Yes.”

“Well, what’s the problem?  Your father wanted you to give her the money, didn’t he?”

Payson hesitated.  What he was about to say seemed so disingenuous, even though it had originated with Tutt & Tutt.

“How do I know really what he wanted?  He may have changed his mind a dozen times since he put it with his will.”

“If he had he wouldn’t have left it there, would he?” asked Mr. Tutt with a smile.

“But perhaps he forgot all about it,—­didn’t remember that it was there,” persisted the youth, still clinging desperately to the lesser Tutt.  “And, if he hadn’t would have torn it up.”

“That might be equally true of the provisions of his will, might it not?” countered the lawyer.

“But,” squirmed Payson, struggling to recall Tutt’s arguments, previously so convincing, “he knew how a will ought to be executed and as he deliberately neglected to execute the paper in a legal fashion, isn’t it fair to presume that he did not intend it to have any legal force?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Tutt with entire equanimity, “I agree with you that it is fair to assume that he did not intend it to have any legal effect.”

“Well, then!” exclaimed Payson exultantly.

“But,” continued the lawyer, “that does not prove that he did not intend it to have a moral effect,—­and expect you to honor and respect his wishes, just as if he had whispered them to you with his dying breath.”

There was something in his demeanor which, while courteous, had a touch of severity, that made Payson feel abashed.  He perceived that he could not afford to let Mr. Tutt think him a cad,—­when he was really a C.J.  Fox.  And in his mental floundering his brain came into contact with the only logical straw in the entire controversy.