THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
My father slowly straightened, placed the paper in his pocket, and bowed.
"Now," he said pleasantly, "we are talking a language I understand. Believe me, Jason, one of my chief motives in keeping this document was the hope that you might realize its intrinsic qualities."
Uncle Jason moistened his lips. His call was evidently proving upsetting.
"How much do you want for it?" he asked, with a slight tremor in his voice.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars seems a fair demand," said my father, "in notes, if you please."
"What!" my uncle shouted.
My father seated himself on the edge of the table, and surveyed his visitor intently.
"Be silent," he said. "Silent and very careful, Jason. You seem to forget that I am a dangerous man." And he flicked an imaginary bit of dust from his cuff. My uncle gave a hasty glance at the half opened door.
"And now listen to me," my father continued, his voice still gently conversational. "You have tried to frighten me, Jason. You should have known better. Of all the people in the world I fear you least. You forget that I am growing old,
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