It was so long since I had laughed.
"That was a hobby of the old fellow," he replied. "When I was a boy I
had the palpitation of the heart. He never got rid of the idea that I
might die at any moment. He was always warning me about violent
exercises, the good old soul. Peace to his ashes!"
"He is dead?"
"Yes. When I took to traveling he all but had nervous prostration. I
suppose he told you about that will I made in your favor. It was done
to please him. Still," he added soberly, "it stands. I travel a deal,
and no one knows what may happen. And so you are the John Winthrop my
dad treated so shabbily? Oh, don't protest, he did. I should have
hunted you up long ago, and given you a solid bank account, only I knew
that the son of my aunt must necessarily be a gentleman, and,
therefore, would not look favorably upon such a proceeding."
"Thank you," said I. The fellow pleased me.
"And then, I did not know but what you cared nothing for money."
"True. A journalist doesn't care anything about money; the life is too
easy and pleasant, and most of the things he needs are thrown in, as
they say.
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