He went home then, after giving me enough money to pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his attorney and without divulging his whereabouts.

I did it.

Eight years or so later, I saw him in Indianapolis.

He gave me more money--enough for eleven or twelve years--" "And that was ten years ago ?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent.
"I remember--I was only a kid.

He sold off everything he had, except the house." Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return at last with a few slips of paper.
"Here 's the answer," he said quietly, "the taxes are paid until 1922." Robert Fairchild studied the receipts carefully--futilely.