OH, MONEY! MONEY!

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ELEANOR H. PORTER

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Oh, Money! Money!
First published in 1918
ISBN 978-1-62013-169-5
Duke Classics
© 2013 Duke Classics and its licensors. All rights reserved.

While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in this edition, Duke Classics does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. Duke Classics does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book.

Contents

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Chapter I - Exit Mr. Stanley G. Fulton
Chapter II - Enter Mr. John Smith
Chapter III - The Small Boy at the Keyhole
Chapter IV - In Search of Some Dates
Chapter V - In Miss Flora's Album
Chapter VI - Poor Maggie
Chapter VII - Poor Maggie and Some Others
Chapter VIII - A Santa Claus Held Up
Chapter IX - "Dear Cousin Stanley"
Chapter X - What Does it Matter?
Chapter XI - Santa Claus Arrives
Chapter XII - The Toys Rattle Out
Chapter XIII - The Dancing Begins
Chapter XIV - From Me to You with Love
Chapter XV - In Search of Rest
Chapter XVI - The Fly in the Ointment
Chapter XVII - An Ambassador of Cupid's
Chapter XVIII - Just a Matter of Begging
Chapter XIX - Still Other Flies
Chapter XX - Frankenstein: Being a Letter from John Smith to Edward D. Norton, Attorney at Law
Chapter XXI - Sympathies Misplaced
Chapter XXII - With Every Jim a James
Chapter XXIII - Reflections—Mirrored and Otherwise
Chapter XXIV - That Miserable Money
Chapter XXV - Exit Mr. John Smith
Chapter XXVI - Reenter Mr. Stanley G. Fulton

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To My Friend

EVA BAKER

Chapter I - Exit Mr. Stanley G. Fulton

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There was a thoughtful frown on the face of the man who was the possessor of twenty million dollars. He was a tall, spare man, with a fringe of reddish-brown hair encircling a bald spot. His blue eyes, fixed just now in a steady gaze upon a row of ponderous law books across the room, were friendly and benevolent in direct contradiction to the bulldog, never-let-go fighting qualities of the square jaw below the firm, rather thin lips.

The lawyer, a youthfully alert man of sixty years, trimly gray as to garb, hair, and mustache, sat idly watching him, yet with eyes that looked so intently that they seemed to listen.

For fully five minutes the two men had been pulling at their cigars in silence when the millionaire spoke.

"Ned, what am I going to do with my money?"

Into the lawyer's listening eyes flashed, for a moment, the keenly scrutinizing glance usually reserved for the witness on the other side. Then quietly came the answer.

"Spend it yourself, I hope—for some years to come, Stanley."

Mr. Stanley G. Fulton was guilty of a shrug and an uplifted eyebrow.