"No, you shall keep the money," she replied. "I have as much as I will ever need."
In a few minutes more Mrs. Talbot retired. James Talbot walked the sitting-room floor with considerable satisfaction.
"Ten thousand dollars will be a nice sum," he mused, rubbing his horny hands together. "Robert, eh? Well, he'll never see the cash, I'll give James Talbot's word on that! It will be several years before he becomes of age, and who knows how much more of the fortune will come my way before that time?"
The morning paper contained a long and semi-humorous account of the performance of "All for Love." It said the actors and actresses were probably well-meaning amateurs who had yet much to learn before they would become successful in their profession. They advised the butler in the play to perfect himself in the part of a stuttering comedian! By the account it was evident that the play had come to a conclusion in a perfect uproar, and that many in the audience had demanded their money back.
James Talbot had gone off to his real estate office, to perfect his plans for opening up in Chicago, when the door-bell rang and Jane announced a visitor to see Mrs. Talbot.
"He gives his name as Livingston Palmer," said Jane.
"Livingston Palmer?" mused the lady of the house. "Why, where have I heard that before? Oh, I remember now. It was on that theatrical programme," and she looked it up to make sure. "He was that butler who started all the trouble. What can he want of me?"
She descended to the parlor to greet her visitor. Livingston Palmer was seated on the edge of a chair, his face far more careworn than ever before, and his clothing much soiled and torn.
"Good-morning," he said humbly. "This is Mrs. Talbot, who used to be Mrs. Frost, I believe."