“No.” The millionaire still smiled imperturbably. “Really, my dear Ned, I’m disappointed in you. You don’t seem to realize the possibilities of this thing.”
“Oh, yes, I do—perhaps better than you, old man,” retorted the other with an expressive glance.
“Oh, come, Ned, listen! I’ve got three cousins in Hillerton. I never saw them, and they never saw me. I’m going to give them a tidy little sum of money apiece, and then have the fun of watching them spend it. Any harm in that, especially as it’s no one’s business what I do with my money?”
“N—no, I suppose not—if you can carry such a wild scheme through.”
“I can, I think. I’m going to be John Smith.”
“Nice distinctive name!”
“I chose a colorless one on purpose. I’m going to be a colorless person, you see.”
“Oh! And—er—do you think Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, multi-millionaire, with his pictured face in half the papers and magazines from the Atlantic to the Pacific, can hide that face behind a colorless John Smith?”
“Maybe not. But he can hide it behind a nice little close-cropped beard.” The millionaire stroked his smooth chin reflectively.
“Humph! How large is Hillerton?”