"But I think I will regret it financially. I think that this is the last
flare of the ambition and energy of your Jean Jacques. That often
happens--a man summons up all his reserves for one last effort. It's
partly pride, partly the undefeated thing in him, partly the gambling
spirit which seizes men when nothing is left but one great spectacular
success or else be blotted out. That's the case with your philosopher;
and I'm not sure that I won't lose twenty thousand dollars by him yet."

"You've lost more with less justification," retorted the Judge, who, in
his ninetieth year, was still as alive as his friend at sixty.

M. Mornay waved a hand in acknowledgment, and rolled his cigar from
corner to corner of his mouth. "Oh, I've lost a lot more in my time,
Judge, but with a squint in my eye! But I'm doing this with no
astigmatism. I've got the focus."

The aged Judge gave a conciliatory murmur-he had a fine persuasive voice.
"You would never be sorry for what you have done if you had known his
daughter--his Zoe. It's the thought of her that keeps him going. He
wants the place to be just as she left it when she comes back."

"Well, well, let's hope it will. I'm giving him a chance," replied M.
Mornay with his wineglass raised. "He's got eight thousand dollars in
cash to build his mill again; and I hope he'll keep a tight hand on it
till the mill is up."

Keep a tight hand on it?

That is what Jean Jacques meant to do; but if a man wants to keep a tight
hand on money he should not carry it about in his pocket in cold, hard