“And yet,” said Henry, turning from the window, “you took me to task for saying that I sometimes felt there was nothing in the entire scheme of life.”

“For saying it at your age, yes.  You have but just begun to try life and have no right to condemn it.”

“I didn’t condemn it without a hearing.  Isn’t there something wrong when the poor are wretched and the rich are miserable?”

“Nonsense,” said Witherspoon.

“Oh, but that’s no argument.”

“Isn’t it?  Well, then there shall be none.”

“I must be getting back,” said Brooks.

“Won’t you stay to breakfast?” Witherspoon asked.  “It will be ready in a few minutes.  Hum”—­looking at his watch—­“ought to have been ready long ago.  Everything goes wrong.  Can’t even get anything to eat.  I’ll swear I never saw the like.”

“I’m much obliged, but I can’t stay,” Brooks answered.

“Well, I suppose I shall be down to the store some time to-day.  If anybody calls to see me, just say that I am at home, standing round begging for something to eat.  Good morning.”

Henry laughed, and the merchant gave him a strained look.  For a moment the millionaire bore a striking likeness to old Andrew, at the time when he declared that the devil had gone wrong.  The young man sought to soothe him when Brooks was gone; he apologized for laughing; he said that he keenly felt that there was cause for worry, but that the picture of a Chicago merchant standing about at home begging for his breakfast, while important business awaited him at the store, was enough to crack the thickest crust of solemnity.  The merchant’s dignity was soon brought back; never was it far beyond his reach.  At breakfast he was severe with silence.

Over and over again during the day Henry repeated Richmond’s words, “Whom does it benefit” and these words went to bed with him, and as though restless, they turned and tossed themselves upon his mind throughout the night, and like children, they clamored to be taken up at early morning, to be dressed in the many colors of supposition.

CHAPTER XXI.

A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN.

In Kansas City was arrested a suspicious-looking man, who, upon being taken to jail, confessed that his name was Dare Kittymunks and owned that he had killed old man Colton.  Thus was ended the search for the murderer, the newspapers said, and the vigilance of the Kansas City police was praised.  But it soon transpired that the prisoner had been a street preacher in Topeka at the time when the murder was committed, that he had on that day created a sensation by announcing himself John the Baptist and swearing that all other Johns the Baptist were base impostors.  The fellow was taken to an asylum for the insane, and the search for Dave Kittymunks was resumed.