"Apparently you want to live at the rate of ten thousand dollars a year now, Mr. Tremlett."
"Well, I can afford it for a year or two."
"You seem to forget that your income for the first year is not quite five thousand."
"Then my creditors must wait, I am going to have my fling."
"It would make Mr. Baldwin turn in his coffin if he were to know how you are wasting his substance."
"Very likely it would," said Tremlett, laughing heartily; "but there's one comfort, he can't come back to trouble us."
"Don't be too sure of that, John Tremlett," said a voice which struck terror to Tremlett's heart, and Mathew Baldwin walked out of the inner office.
The young man's face turned as pale as ashes, and his knees knocked together in his fright.
"Is it—you—Mr. Baldwin?" he ejaculated.
"Yes, it is I—your benefactor, the stingy old file, as you so gratefully call me," answered the old man sternly.