"But that isn't what I sent for you to discuss.

What I meant to say is that there's a fellow from Newport gone all to smash.

His fine yacht, the _Daisy Bell_, is to be sold at auction to-day, likewise the contents of his stables.
There are two of his animals that are flyers--the Lady Albia and Sterling.

Why, the Lady has a record better than 2.05 1-2, open gaited, warranted sound, both of 'em, and no end of traps, tea carts, and buggies.

I tell you what, Wright, I must have that yacht and that team.
You must go and bid them in for me--get 'em at any price, if you have to run it up to a hundred thousand, and you can even do a little better than that rather than see some other lucky fellow get 'em." Mr.Wright was staring at him as though he quite believed his employer had gone suddenly out of his mind.
"Well," said the bogus Mr.Lester Armstrong, coolly, "you heard my command to you, didn't you ?" Without another word the general manager turned and with slow, unsteady steps quitted his new employer's presence.
"Heaven help me, that I should live to see this hour," he groaned; "a hundred thousand dollars--ten fortunes to a poor man like myself--frittered away on a yacht and a pair of horses! Mr.Marsh would pitch him out if he could but know and come back long enough to do it.
It spoils the best of 'em to have money thrown at them--to come into a fortune that they haven't worked for.