"I'm beginning to dislike this idea of yours of always having our removable subscribed for," said Chelubai. " It doesn't leave space enough for the ideal."
"As a good Socialist, I'm bound to be practical—even in philanthropy," I said firmly. "The idea of killing two birds with one stone, of knocking an enemy of Humanity on the head and subsidizing my hospital with the same sand-bag, appeals to me very strongly. Besides, what else did we form the company for but to run our enterprise on those lines?"
"Yes, there is that," said Chelubai. "But I do long for one pure, romantic removal—something high-souled. However, I mustn't fix romance with philanthropy—real, business-like philanthropy—it never works. I expect that this failure with Amsted A. Pudleigh's thick skull has shaken me."
"Well, we'll make out that list of heirs," said I; and I made haste to get the talk away from our work, to divert his attention from his failure. After a while I succeeded, and he grew quite cheerful telling Angel stories about the life of Shanghai.
The next morning's post brought me in three checks; the passing monetary cloud had lifted. At the end of breakfast, I said to Angel: "My money has come in, and now there is no longer any rea-
