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“When I left there to come on back here he had no less’n six kids squatted round him, includin’ one little nigger boy; and between ’em all they’d jest finished up the last of the bananas and peanuts and the candy and the gingersnaps, and was fixin’ to take turns drinkin’ the milk out of the coconut. I s’pose they’ve got it all cracked out of the shell and et up by now–the coconut, I mean. Judge, you oughter stepped down into Franklin Street and taken a look at the picture whilst there was still time. You never seen sech a funny sight in all your days, I’ll bet!”

“I reckin ‘twould be too late to be startin’ now,” said Judge Priest. “I’m right sorry I missed it. . . . Busy ketchin’ up, huh? Yes; I reckin he is. . . . Tell me, son, whut did you make out of the way Peep O’Day acted?”

“Why, suh,” stated Mr. Quarles, “to my mind, Judge, there ain’t no manner of doubt but whut prosperity has went to his head and turned it. He acted to me like a plum’ distracted idiot. A grown man with forty thousand pounds of solid money settin’ on the side of a gutter eatin’ jimcracks with a passel of dirty little boys! Kin you figure it out any other way, Judge–except that his mind is gone?”

“I don’t set myself up to be a specialist in mental disorders, son,” said Judge Priest softly; “but, sence you ask me the question, I should say, speakin’ offhand, that it looks to me more ez ef the heart was the organ that was mainly affected. And possibly”–he added this last with a dry little smile–“and possibly, by now, the stomach also.”

* * * * *

Whether or not Mr. Quarles was correct in his psychopathic diagnosis, he certainly had been right when he told Judge Priest that the word was already all over the business district. It had spread fast and was still spreading; it spread to beat the wireless, travelling as it did by that mouth-to-ear method of communication which is so amazingly swift and generally as tremendously incorrect. Persons who could not credit the tale at all, nevertheless lost no time in giving to it a yet wider circulation; so that, as though borne on the wind, it moved in every direction, like ripples on a pond; and with each time of retelling the size of the legacy grew.

The Daily Evening News, appearing on the streets at 5 P. M., confirmed the tale; though by its account the fortune was reduced to a sum far below the gorgeously exaggerated estimates of most of the earlier narrators. Between breakfast and supper-time Peep O’Day’s position in the common estimation of his fellow citizens underwent a radical and revolutionary change. He ceased–automatically, as it were–to be a town character; he became, by universal consent, a town notable, whose every act and every word would thereafter be subjected to close scrutiny and closer analysis.

The next morning the nation at large had opportunity to know of the great good fortune that had befallen Paul Felix O’Day, for the story had been wired to the city papers by the local correspondents of the same; and the press associations had picked up a stickful of the story and sped it broadcast over leased wires. Many who until that day had never heard of the fortunate man, or, indeed, of the place where he lived, at once manifested a concern in his well-being.

Certain firms of investment brokers in New York and Chicago promptly added a new name to what vulgarly they called their “sucker” lists. Dealers in mining stocks, in oil stocks, in all kinds of attractive stocks, showed interest; in circular form samples of the most optimistic and alluring literature the world has ever known were consigned to the post, addressed to Mr. P. F. O’Day, such-and-such a town, such-and-such a state, care of general delivery.