Galusha the Magnificent

"Why, why, no, I didn't," he admitted. "I had intended to, but you see—Dear me, dear me, I hope you will feel that I did right. You see, our paleontological department had been hoping to fit out an expedition to the Wyoming fossil fields, but it was lamentably short of funds, appropriations—ah—and so on. Hambridge and I were talking of the matter. A very adequate man indeed, Hambridge. Possibly you've read some of his writings. He wrote Lesser Reptilian Life in the Jurassio. Are you acquainted with that?"

Cousin Gussie shook his head. "Never have been introduced," he observed, with a chuckle. Galusha noted the chuckle and smiled.

"I imagine not," he observed. "I fear it isn't what is called a—ah—best seller. Well—ah—Dear me, where was I? Oh, yes! Hambridge, poor fellow, was very much upset at the prospect of abandoning his expedition and I, knowing from experience what such a disappointment means, sympathized with him. Your check was at that moment lying on my desk. So—so—It was rather on the spur of the moment, I confess—I—"

The banker interrupted.

"Are you trying to tell me," he demanded, "that you handed that check over to that other—that other—"

He seemed rather at a loss for the word.

Galusha nodded.

"To finance Hambridge's expedition? Yes," he said.

"ALL of it?"

"Yes—ah—yes."

"Well, by George!"

"Perhaps it was impulsive on my part. But, you see, Hambridge DID need the money. And of course I didn't. The only thing that troubles me is the fact that, after all, it was money Aunt Clarissa left to me and I should prefer to do what she would have liked with it. I fear she might not have liked this."

Cabot nodded, grimly. He had known Aunt Clarissa very, very well.

"You bet she wouldn't," he declared.

"Yes. So don't send me any more, will you? Ah—not unless I ask for it."

"No, I won't." Then he added, "And not then unless I know WHY you ask for it, you can bet on that."

Galusha was as grateful as if he had been granted a great favor. As they walked through the outer office together he endeavored to express his feelings.

"Thank you, thank you very much, Cousin Gussie," he said, earnestly. His relative glanced about at the desks where rows of overjoyed clerks were trying to suppress delighted grins and pretend not to have heard.

"You're welcome, Loosh," he said, as they parted at the door, "but don't you ever dare call me 'Cousin Gussie' again in public as long as you live."